Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4291161.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DRAMAtical_Murder_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Mizuki/Sly_Blue_(DRAMAtical_Murder)
  Character:
      Mizuki_(DRAMAtical_Murder), Sly_Blue_(DRAMAtical_Murder), Tio_(DRAMAtical
      Murder)
  Additional Tags:
      Prompt_Fill, Pre-Relationship, First_Meetings, Injury_Recovery, Major
      Character_Injury, Stabbing, Implied/Referenced_Drug_Use, Alcohol,
      Dubiously_Consensual_Blow_Jobs, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Implied/
      Referenced_Gang_Rape, Anal_Sex, First_Time, Anal_Fingering
  Series:
      Part 1 of Intravenous
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-07 Completed: 2015-10-25 Chapters: 10/10 Words: 59550
****** Uninvited ******
by Minky-way_(Cardgamesonmotorcycles)
Summary
     'Come on in, help yourself to a beer and make yourself comfortable.'
     Either Sly didn't understand sarcasm, or he did and was deliberately
     ignoring him, he voted the latter
     -------
     Otherwise known as: Slight scratch, or the one with all the
     friendship
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Mizuki replied calmly, not even turning to
see his unexpected guest, too busy focusing on stirring his pan of scrambled
eggs and making sure the bacon didn’t burn. He knew what he looked like anyway,
he’d almost had a heart attack when he’d walked sleepily into his living room
and found a random guy fast asleep on his sofa. A quick preliminary check made
certain that nothing was missing and that his guest didn’t seem dangerous as he
drooled onto his couch cushions. His apartment door was open and he realised
with a groan that he had forgotten to lock it again, he supposed his guest must
have climbed in through the window or something. But either way, he didn’t feel
too threatened, he was much bigger and stronger than the other, deciding he’d
rather wait for him to wake naturally than shake him and risk a punch to the
face.
“Where am I?”
“My apartment,” Mizuki answered shortly, grabbing toast as it popped up, golden
brown and quickly buttering it, putting it onto two plates before piling on the
eggs, bacon and grilled mushrooms. “Above Black Needle, I assume you broke in.”
“Sounds about right,” the other commented casually, just staring blankly at the
plate Mizuki offered as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
“Eat, you were drunk right? It’ll help with the hangover,” he essentially
pressed the plate into the other’s hands, rolling his eyes as he wandered to
the dining table in the next room, guest following a second later.
“How d’you know I was drunk?”
“Nothing was missing and you were so fast asleep you looked dead,” he remarked,
pouring himself some coffee and munching on a slice of toast, regarding his
unwanted guest with interest. He didn’t look particularly well looked after,
probably only about sixteen or seventeen, his clothes were dirty and torn and
there were dark bags under his eyes, he almost looked like he slept rough,
which Mizuki supposed he could. The only feature that distinguished him from
any other street trash was his hair, it fell down his back in an odd mullet
style cut, shorter around his face and tumbling down in bright blue strands. It
was almost pretty, or it would be if it was washed and taken care of.
“Huh, can I smoke in here?” He asked, brushing off Mizuki’s explanation and
already removing a box of cigarettes and a cheap, disposable lighter with dirty
fingernails.
“Only if you give me one,” he was joking, but the other just shrugged, lighting
one for himself and pushing the box across the table, watching with yellow eyes
as he lit up and took a long drag, first cigarette of the day always delicious.
“What’s your name then, mystery break-in boy?”
“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” his face was clouded with suspicion
and caution as he poked at a strip of congealing bacon, eyes flicking up to the
bartenders curiously as he took a bite.
“That’s fair enough, I’m Mizuki, and it’s not poisoned, by the way.” His
eyebrows raised in amusement as his words were only met with a scowl, though
the other still nibbled on his food almost nervously, as if it was too good to
be true.
There was silence as he digested his words, hand moving in fast, almost jerky
movements to pick up the slice of toast, devouring it like he hadn’t eaten in
days, which his collarbones showed was more than likely. “Sly.”
He just nodded, thinking that people sure had weird names these days but
shrugging it off, thinking quietly that Mizuki might not even be his real name
since he’d been named by the orphanage staff after he’d been abandoned there as
a baby.
“Is it your bar?”
“Hm? Oh yeah, I run it and the tattoo studio. We do a pretty good trade.” He
shrugged, he was incredibly proud of his little business, he had regular
patrons and got plenty of new people on the weekends when people were looking
for somewhere to have a relaxed drink before heading out to the more hectic
clubs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”
Sly shook his head, blue hair shining in the sunlight coming through the high
windows, “can’t afford to drink at actual bars.”
Mizuki narrowed his eyes, maybe he meant he just drank at home? He had to admit
it was cheaper too, and some bars on Midorijima were rip-offs, but he always
tried to keep his drinks at reasonable prices, otherwise he’d lose customers
and therefore profit. But he was still getting a homeless vibe from him,
watching with almost mild disgust as he shoveled eggs into his mouth furtively.
“Do you just get your own alcohol and drink at home then?”
Sly shook his head, looking almost amused at the bartender’s innocence and
barely pausing his chewing, “steal it and drink on the streets.”
Mizuki almost chuckled, amused at how easily he’d admitted to his less than
legal activities, respecting his honestly even if it might be a bit stupid.
“Wait, you didn’t break into the bar too did you?”
He seemed to take a moment to think about this, then shook his head slowly,
munching slowly on his last piece of toast and lighting a fresh cigarette.
“Don’t think so, I might next time though.”
His lips cracked further when he smirked and a tiny trail of blood ran down his
chin, wiped away with a grubby sleeve, “you’re joking, right?”
“Is that what you think?” He asked, eyeing up Mizuki’s bacon until he pushed
the plate over to him, eyes lighting up almost childishly as he ate the final
rasher, hands over his stomach contentedly and eyes scanning the room
curiously. “You obviously haven’t heard of me then.”
“Oh? You famous or something?” He asked, smirking slightly, wondering if this
kid had some kind of complex or if he was the leader of some minor gang that
committed petty theft and acts of meaningless vandalism. He’d run into them
before and they were nearly always incredibly self-absorbed, thinking they were
some kind of hero when in reality they were just pests.
“I’m the highest ranked Rhymer on the Island, Sly Blue.”
Mizuki raised his eyebrows over his coffee mug, that was actually pretty
impressive, “you must have quite the fan base then.” He didn’t know much about
Rhyme, but surely it paid, contests and stuff must have monetary prizes, so
then why did he look like he had nothing to his name except his clothes and
those cigarettes he’d presumably stolen?
“Not exactly,” he muttered almost bitterly. “I don’t have a team and most
people hate me, so… Hey, you don’t Rhyme, do you?”
Mizuki couldn’t conceal the grimace that crossed his face, technology didn’t
exactly elude him, but the high tech kit you needed for Rhyme was too much for
him. “Nah, I prefer to do my fighting in real life.”
“Ribster,” He spoke knowingly, same look of dislike on his face. “What team?”
“Dry Juice, I’m the leader, actually.” He tried not to look smug as he spoke,
but he must have failed, Sly raising an amused eyebrow at him and making a
light noise of scorn through his nose.
“Ask your team about me, they can tell you whatever you want,” his eyes widened
as he spoke, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and standing, presumably
done making small talk with this essential stranger.
“I should probably tell you not to break in again,” Mizuki remarked, but he had
a feeling that may not be very effective at all.
“Probably,” Sly replied, shrugging as he pulled on his battered shoes, having
presumably managed to remove them before he passed out on the strange couch. If
he was hungover, it wasn’t obvious, but for someone who looked so tired it
probably wouldn’t even be noticeable. “You gunna let me out or are you actually
some kind of serial killer?”
“Do I look like a serial killer?” Mizuki asked, looking down at himself for the
first time, black muscle vest crumpled with sleep and red sweat pants riding
low on his hips.
“Does anyone?” Sly snorted, though he let Mizuki grab the keys to the outer
door and the gate downstairs, which he now vaguely remembered vaulting.
“Good point,” Mizuki remarked, not bothering to defend himself, he knew Sly
didn’t really think he was a serial killer, or at least he hoped he didn’t… He
unlocked the door to the metal stairs, cold on his bare feet as he walked down
them into the crisp morning air, shivering slightly in front of the wooden gate
that separated the alley where the bar’s bins were stored from the main street.
His fingers trembled slightly as he unlocked it, padlock heavy in his hand as
Sly just regarded him with interest.
“Do you break into people’s houses often or…?”
“Only the one’s owned by cute bartenders,” his face was mildly amused as he
spoke, voice playful and Mizuki didn’t even have time to laugh uncomfortably
before Sly was stretching up on tip-toe, one hand on his cheek and kissing him.
Olive eyes growing wide in surprise because what? He heard Sly’s laugh from
somewhere near his neck as he stepped back, presumably finding his expression
of utter shock amusing. “Thanks for breakfast.”
Mizuki got one last view of blue hair fluttering in the wind, a cheeky smile
sent his way and a suggestive raise of eyebrows, then he was out of sight,
blending into the shadows of the alleyway opposite and leaving the tattooist
there with his mouth hanging open.
===============================================================================
 
“Hey, Tio, what can you tell me about Sly Blue?” He asked casually, or tried
to, hiding the curiosity that had swirled in his brain since he’d woken up with
said boy unconscious on his sofa.
His friend’s face twisted into a scowl immediately, “Sly Blue? He hasn’t been
causing trouble, has he?” he sounded almost fierce, and Mizuki wondered if this
had been the reason Sly had looked so amused when he told him to ask his team,
he’d suggested he had a bad reputation, but it really must be bad if even Tio
disliked him.
“No, nothing like that, I just… Heard someone mention him, that’s all.” He
shrugged it off easily enough, hiding the twitch of his fingers behind the
glass he was drying, hot and fresh out of the dishwasher.
“Hm, well he’s not someone you want to get mixed up with, he’s pretty
ruthless.”
“How do you mean?” He stacked the glasses neatly on their shelf, finding it
difficult listening to him talking in such vague terms, he wanted specifics,
what did he do that made people hate him?
“Well, when he Rhymes he crushes people, he’s sent them to hospital before now,
some of them never recovered, like he destroyed their brains or something.”
Tio’s expression was honest enough and they were good enough friends that
Mizuki didn’t doubt his words. “He’s ruthless on the streets too, he’ll fight
anyone, he doesn’t care how badly he gets hurt. He… Well, nobody knows for
sure, but that body they found last month with its throat slit, people think
that was him too.”
Mizuki could still remember that, there had been an unsettled atmosphere on the
Island, people had moved in groups and nobody liked being out after dark, the
bar had been filled with rumors and scared whispers. But to think that Sly had
done it? He was only a child, surely, barely even old enough to drink let alone
to kill somebody.
“How old is he?”
“Not sure, about sixteen I think? Hey, are you sure he hasn’t done anything?”
Tio’s face was curious, tilted to one side as he drained his drink, passing
Mizuki the glass so he could run the last dishwasher load of the night.
“I’m certain, his hair’s blue, right?” Tio nodded, “I think I saw him once, he
just looked young so I wondered. Does he not have a family or anything? Surely
they wouldn’t let him go round doing stuff like that?”
But what did Mizuki know about families? He’d never had one, left as a baby on
the steps of an orphanage and raised there until he was old enough to leave and
lucky enough to be left some money by an elderly man who befriended him.
“Nah, I don’t think so, he lives in one of the warehouses in the North
District. Even if he did have a family, I don’t think they’d want to know, I
sure as hell know I wouldn’t.”
The conversation ended there, Mizuki nodding and handing Tio a damp cloth,
working together to finish cleaning the bar, parting at the doorway with smiles
and laughter.
===============================================================================
 
He didn’t believe any of it, the Sly Blue Tio had described and the one he had
met had been so different, he spoke of some kind of cold, sadistic maniac who
went around beating the shit out of people and being generally a disgusting
human. But that wasn’t the Sly Blue he had met, who had shown emotion under his
initial harshness, suspicion and paranoia melting away to show an almost
playful side and a smile that made the dark bags under his eyes fade away.
But maybe he was wrong, maybe that had been an act and he really was the hated
person his team said he was, who did what he wanted with no concern for anyone
else. He thought about him a lot, whirling around at any flash of blue he saw,
almost hoping for it to be his hair, to see that orange jacket and those
headphones around his slim neck.
No, he didn’t believe a word of the rumors that circled about him, because that
kiss, that had been genuine, the almost shy expression in his eyes afterwards
burned into his retinas.
===============================================================================
 
So when he woke up two weeks later, pulling on some sweatpants and padding out
of his room, the yellow eyes that regarded him were barely even a surprise,
just raising a disbelieving eyebrow at the boy on his couch.
“Best start to the day I’ve had in a while,” Sly remarked, raising an eyebrow
and deliberately ogling his chest before shifting to kneel on the sofa, face
expectant. “So, breakfast?”
All he did was roll his eyes, chuckling as he gestured for him to follow him
into the kitchen, because really, he couldn’t be as bad as they said. He just
needed to have a word with him about breaking and entering...
***** Chapter 2 *****
He thought about Sly a lot that week, just in passing, turning his head at
every flash of blue he saw, though it was never the shade he was searching for,
wondering just how he’d managed to avoid hearing about the infamous Rhymer
until now. He was surprised he’d never even bumped into him, he was on the
streets pretty often, and since Sly apparently lived on them, or in a warehouse
anyway, it was honestly amazing they’d never so much as seen each other.
He was almost tempted to ask Tio about it more, but he knew he’d get even more
suspicious if he did, and that was the last thing he needed, if anybody found
out he’d been helping Sly, it would look bad on him, so universally hated as he
was. So instead he asked his other team members, managing to slip it into a
rather tipsy conversation one night after closing time remarkably easy.
“I hear about some big time Rhymer the other day, Sly Blue, apparently he’s
given Ruff Rabbit a run for their money.” Team wise, Ruff Rabbit were the
overall boss of the Rhyme scene, beating their opponents easily every time and
coming first easily in each tournament they entered, their leader was less easy
to track down, apparently foreign and basically a shut in, but it wasn’t him
Mizuki was interested in.
The hatred in their voices shocked him, because normally they were a perfectly
reasonable bunch, that was mainly why he’d invited them to join Dry Juice in
the first place, but at the mention of Sly Blue’s name they spewed acidic bile
so foul it almost made him cringe. How Sly, only aged sixteen, dealt with this,
he didn’t know, but he was certain he couldn’t deserve the half of it. They
were talking about petty things, thefts and verbal abuses, the occasional
fistfight that got out of hand where weapons were pulled, but none of that was
uncommon on Midorijima, so why did he get so much flak for it when others
didn’t?
“How’s he make money then? In Rhyme?”
Riku scoffed, lowering his empty pint glass and sharing a knowing look with the
others, shaking his head and usually calm face twisted in disgust. “Nah, the
only way to do that is to be in a team, and nobody wants him, there’s no way
anybody’d sponsor him either, not with his attitude, nah, he’s got other ways.”
Mizuki still didn’t get it, feeling significantly stupid since everybody else
seemed to know what he was talking about, shaking his head to show his
confusion until Masao, the soberest of the bunch, spoke up. “He sells himself,
does whatever you want for cash, cigarettes, drugs or alcohol,” he shrugged,
almost as if to say that it was horrible, but it was the unfortunate truth.
“But he’s what, sixteen at most? Do women seriously do that?” he couldn’t,
wouldn’t believe it, Midorijima might be a less than pleasant place to live
sometimes, but surely nobody would pay such a young boy for sexual acts, it
made his stomach churn to imagine it. But then, with the way Sly had been, he
could see how people might be convinced into thinking that it was actually
okay, he had a way of acting older than he really was, and it was horribly good
acting.
“Not women,” they exchanged laughs more, and Mizuki felt increasingly left out,
almost like they were unintentionally mocking him by not just divulging all
they knew like he wanted, but he supposed they were pretty drunk, so he should
probably let them off.
“All kinda guys go to him, I bet most of them aren’t even gay. He’s cheap,
subtle, and accordin’ to a cousin of mine, he’s damn good too,” Tetsuya spoke
up now, who this cousin was, Mizuki didn’t know, he just hoped to god he wasn’t
using a fictional cousin to cover for himself.
“None of you guys have though, right?” He asked, and he was shocked to hear how
stern his voice was, already judging harshly anybody who might have done
something so low, so disgusting. It was strange to him, that his guys hated
Sly, rather than the people who used him so degradingly, but he supposed that
the way he acted implied he encouraged it, so maybe they just had him confused,
twisting him into the enemy in their minds to lessen their guilt.
The combined noises of disgust and their immediate need to clear themselves of
the accusation was reassuring enough, though Mizuki wasn’t sure what he would
do if he knew one of them had used Sly like that. He had the horrible feeling
he’d be forced to pretend he wasn’t bothered, if he threw them out for it, it
would cause dissent within his team, and he wouldn’t lose them over something
like that, as much as it made him feel sick.
===============================================================================
 
He found himself thinking about him before he went to bed, wondering where he
was, in the warehouse he supposedly lived in, way in the North District, where
drug dealers ran the streets and more fights happened than anywhere else? He
wondered if he was safe, warm, if he’d eaten that day or if he was going to
sleep with hunger gnawing his stomach and empty pockets. But then maybe he was
wandering the streets, lingering on corners until some guy came up and they
both disappeared to an alley, returning with a wad full of notes and shaking
legs. Maybe he tried to buy food but nobody trusted him enough, so he had to
steal it, maybe he’d gotten caught, beaten and left to bleed alone with
everyone who passed glaring and spitting on him. They might not see the
teenager he was, but Mizuki did, and he didn’t like it, drifting into a
troubled sleep.
===============================================================================
 
So when he woke up the next morning with him in his apartment again and
practically undressing him with his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he was pleased or
not.
===============================================================================
 
“Were you even drinking last night?” Mizuki asked, watching Sly sip coffee
noisily in between shoving rice in his mouth, chewing with no finesse at all,
mouth wide open.
“No,” he responded, reply muffled by his full mouth, rice dropping onto the
table.
“Then why are you here?”
Sly paused, chewing and swallowing his latest mouthful, shrugging absently in
his too-large jacket, “it’s cold out there, this place is really easy to break
into.” He took another mouthful of coffee, slopping over onto the table, “and
where else could I get a free breakfast?”
“Who said it’s free?” Mizuki asked, although he had no intention of taking any
kind of payment from him.
Sly paused in his frantic chewing, lowering his chopsticks to the table and
raising his eyebrows slightly, “well, I don’t have any money… But I’m sure I
could figure out some sort of way to repay you.” His eyes had gained a playful,
almost seductive tint again as he leaned forwards over the table, mouth cocked
into a smirk.
“Oh really,” Mizuki asked, deciding to play along for a moment, his team had
told him Sly was known as someone to go to for certain… services, were you to
like that sort of thing, and he wanted to test that theory out, theoretically
at least. “Like what?”
“Well I could suck your-“ Sly started calmly, face stating he honestly didn’t
mind, which made Mizuki feel quite queasy.
“That’s! Really not what I meant!” He exclaimed, face flushing pink at how
openly Sly had made his intentions clear, not even blushing as he suggested
doing… that, to an almost complete stranger.
“Huh,” Sly looked almost surprised, lighting a cigarette and offering them
over, leaning closer than the bartender would have liked to ignite his too.
“Guess this is going to be an expensive breakfast then.”
He clocked the hand sliding up his thigh the minute it touched his leg,
promptly wrapping his own fingers around the slim wrist and pulling it away.
“You are going nowhere near my dick.”
“What a shame,” he said, and he looked honestly disappointed even as he rolled
his eyes sarcastically, smirk still playful and almost dangerous on his lips.
“Unless that means you want to get me off, hm?”
“Tempting as that is,” Mizuki acknowledged, and his sarcasm was real, the idea
making his skin crawl. "You’re what, sixteen?”
“Yeah, so what?” His harsh shell was back, eyes glaring and looking almost
offended. “Doesn’t mean I’m not a good fuck.”
“Never said it did, I’m just not big on breaking the law.” Mizuki explained,
although that wasn’t entirely the reason, if he really liked somebody younger
than the legal age, it probably wouldn’t stop him. No, the problem here was
that Sly was throwing these things around like they weren’t important, like
using his body as repayment for a free breakfast was a totally normal thing to
do, when it really wasn’t.
“I’d make it worth your while.” His voice had lost its seductiveness, now he
was just earnestly trying to prove himself worthy to the bartender.
“I’m sure you would,” and the straightforward way he had offered meant there
was no doubt in his mind it would indeed be ‘worth his while’, were he to want
to. “But I was joking, you don’t owe me anything.”
Sly’s eyes narrowed, both their breakfasts forgotten as they essentially,
argued. “So… You’re just giving me free food?”
“Yeah.”
“And letting me break in and sleep here with no punishment?”
“Basically.”
There was a pause as Sly tried to understand this, “are you sure you’re not a
serial killer?”
Mizuki laughed, and the tension was gone, Sly’s mouth twitching upwards as the
inside joke, “certain, now eat, it’s going cold.”
There was silence as they both resumed eating, Sly shoving it in like it was
about to be pulled away, and Mizuki trying not to let the sight put him off his
own food too much, watching in mild amusement at his lack of table manners. “I
asked my team about you.”
His hand froze, coffee mug halfway to his mouth and next sip too deliberate to
seem casual, raising an eyebrow curiously, “and yet I’m still here, they must
have been nice.”
“Not exactly,” he chuckled, draining the last of his mug and lighting a
cigarette, pushing the packet across the table and earning a narrow eyed stare
as Sly watched him light up.
“So… How is it you haven’t kicked me out?” His gaze was calculative as Mizuki
stood, gathering up their dirty plates and stacking them into a neat pile,
disappearing into the kitchen for a second before returning.
He shrugged as he resumed his seat, taking a long drag from his cigarette, “you
haven’t done anything to me, and I make it a habit not to listen to rumours.”
“One of few,” Sly remarked, and his face was twisted bitterly, a contrast from
the almost relaxed, if not guarded, expression he had worn so far, smoke
swirling up past his yellow eyes dangerously. Mizuki might not have any
personal reason to hate him, but Sly had a marvellous ability of turning people
against him, it was only a matter of time. “Anyway, I got people to fuck up,
so…”
“Oh, yeah,” the bartender jumped up from his seat easily, grabbing his set of
keys from beside the door and letting Sly stalk out first, waiting patiently at
the gate as his cold fingers fumbled with the lock. “No kiss this time?” Mizuki
asked as he finally unlocked the gate, but he was joking.
“I thought you didn’t want payment?” Sly’s expression didn’t seem any more
pissed than his normal resting face did, but something in his tone had
hardened, maybe thinking that the tattooist had changed his mind about his kind
act.
“I don’t, guess it was just a one-time thing, huh?”
“Seems that way,” Sly commented back, trying to smirk but it died on his lips,
face falling into an uncertain expression, turning to leave without saying
anything else.
“You know, you could just knock.”
Sly turned around, eyebrow quirked in confusion, seeking clarification.
“Instead of breaking in,” Mizuki explained, because surely it was obvious? Sly
obviously had no sort of income, and something in him reminded the bartender of
himself at that age, a little lost, very scared, and with nobody who really
cared about him. If he could offer him a warm place to sleep or the occasional
hot meal, it didn’t put him out any, and it might really help Sly get his life
sorted out, so why wouldn’t he do it?
He didn’t respond, but something in his face changed, falling another notch
down and away from his usual confident, cocky personality, almost looking
vulnerable as he just nodded once and left.
***** Chapter 3 *****
“Sly! Didn’t expect to see you in here.”
The addressed just smirked, settling into his seat at the bar almost furtively,
looking around as if pretending not to be assessing the situation for danger,
though his yellow eyes flashed dangerously. “Got some money didn’t I? Figured
I’d spend it on overpriced booze and bad company.”
Well wasn’t he as sweet as always? Though Mizuki had to admit his honest, if
not rude, approach was refreshing. “I’m almost offended, you get a job or
something?”
“Nah, did a couple of friends some favors, nothing too major.” He shrugged,
long hair not quite concealing the finger shaped bruises on his neck that made
Mizuki’s response waver slightly as his eyes lingered on them a second too
long, yellow eyes narrowing as he yanked his collar up.
“Fair enough, what can I get you?”
“Vodka.” He answered shortly, not offering any more detail than that, ordering
with confidence, as if Mizuki didn’t know he was underage, but then, it was
hardly like he’d throw him out, this might be the first time he’d had a roof
over his head in days.
What had he really been expecting? He was hardly the alcopop type after all,
but straight vodka was too much even for hardened drinkers like Mizuki, let
alone for a sixteen year old, but Sly looked like he’d been drinking since he
was far younger, so he wouldn’t question it.
“Just like a bottle or..?” He was joking, taking the piss out of Sly’s less
than specific order, blanching slightly then he just nodded, sliding a crumpled
handful of ¥1000 notes across the bar. He wasn’t surprised he didn’t have a
coil either, though he wondered to himself as he retrieved a bottle, ‘the good
shit’, as Sly had insisted, and a glass, that maybe he should spend his money
more wisely, maybe on some warmer clothes or a proper meal.
If he charged him less than half, nobody had to know, handing him his change in
a folded pile that, to his relief, he just shoved in his pocket. He was almost
tempted to not charge him at all, but at over ¥7000 a bottle, he wanted to at
least get some, besides, he had the feeling Sly wasn’t the type to take charity
kindly, folding only three notes up and sliding them into the till.
He watched almost queasily as Sly opened the bottle, pouring what was at least
a double measure, if not a triple, into his glass and downed it easily, barely
even wincing other than a slight hardening of his jaw. It must have burnt, but
seemingly with everything else, he’d learnt to hide it, just pouring another,
though he didn’t drink this one so fast, two mouthfuls and it was gone, licking
his lips dry and eyes focused on the clear liquid.
Mizuki was about to think of something else to say, something hopefully at
least slightly witty that would earn that quirk of his lip and a raised
eyebrow, because his expressions fascinated him, slightest change of his face
displaying so little emotion but so much. But there was a small crowd forming
and as efficient as his other two bartenders might be, none of them could deal
with seven people at once, especially as one of them was already bogged down
with an order of six different cocktails for a group of girls who kept taking
obnoxious selfies.
He switched into work mode immediately, taking orders with one hand and pouring
with the other, scanning coils and exchanging pleasantries with people he
recognized, ignoring the growing pain in his back, working around his
colleagues with practiced ease. Passing bottles when asked and cleaning up
spills as he went with a cloth that had seen better days, unaware of the yellow
eyes on him the entire time, gaze impassive if not impressed, watching as he
poured shots and sugared the rims of glasses, popping umbrellas and winking at
particularly flirtatious customers. He had charisma, that was how he’d describe
it, a natural likable factor that made him so much more interesting to Sly,
because why would somebody like that show even the remotest interest in him?
===============================================================================
 
The bar stayed bustling, Saturday night was always the busiest after Friday,
and Mizuki remained occupied with his job, cracking open beers and alcopops for
people who were noisy and stumbling and glared at him like he was a piece of
shit not a legitimate customer like them. At one point a fight broke out, some
guy had apparently been hitting on somebody else’s girlfriend and her boyfriend
hadn’t liked it. His ears perked up and he shifted in his seat to watch, glad
things were finally getting interesting, but it was resolved remarkably fast,
barely one punch was thrown before Mizuki was in the middle, catching the fist
that came his way easily and twisting the guys arm behind his back. It was
almost boring to watch, the guy was half Mizuki’s size and seemed to have an
ego far bigger than his muscles, so once he realized it was useless to complain
he let himself get kicked out pretty easily, girlfriend trotting out after him
as if she hadn’t been letting the other guy chat her up. People really were
disgusting when it came to it, they might act like nice, upstanding citizens,
but they were all dirty inside, Sly just made his rotten core more obvious, and
people hated him for it.
The other guy looked genuinely apologetic as Mizuki kicked him out too,
seemingly having had no idea the whore had a boyfriend, and how would he? With
how she’d been draped over him it seemed obvious that she must be single, but
no, she was a slut through and through, even if she tried to deny it, it was
out for the world to know now.
Impressed as he was with how fast the bartender had been to get it under
control, he still felt disappointed that his only entertainment for the night
was gone, having to watch with an unexplained feeling in his chest as Mizuki
accepted the praise of a group of women who quickly swarmed him. He laughed
them off easily enough, voice blocked out by the music and the loud mess of
voices, presumably saying it was nothing, ignoring the hands on his shoulders
and biceps and just waving them away good-naturedly as he headed back to the
bar.
“Superman strikes again,” Sly remarked dryly as Mizuki picked up a glass from
next to him, earning a sheepish grin as he shrugged casually.
“You fight in my bar, you get kicked out. I’ve dealt with worse than that,” Sly
bet he had, his knuckles had the same damaged sheen as his, from broken skin
that had healed and been broken again more than once. Plus his position as the
leader of a prominent Rib team essentially meant he had to be good at fighting,
whether with fists or with words, needing to be to secure his team’s turf and
ensure they wouldn’t be overtaken as the Island’s best. He turned away from Sly
as somebody nudged him, muttering something in his ear and aiming a watery blue
glare his way that he responded to with a smug smirk, because he was not going
to let some asshole intimidate him when he had as much right to be here as
them.
Mizuki’s expression turned sour and he spoke shortly to the other, glancing
over in his direction more than once, Sly tried to read his lips but failed
after only a few words, seemingly the other bar patron had some issue with his
being there. Amusingly enough it looked like Mizuki was arguing his corner for
him, saying something about paying and not being trouble, and he was right,
he’d bought his booze outright, with cash no less, and hadn’t even spoken to
anyone.
The guy just shrugged and turned away, aiming a displeased look in his
direction but not daring to say anything as Sly raised an eyebrow at him,
encouraging, taunting him to fucking say something, to start a fight. But he
walked off and Sly was left alone again, the stool beside him staying empty all
night, nobody going anywhere near and people actively glaring at him even
though he did nothing but sit there and slowly drink his way through the
bottle, smoking the occasional cigarette. If anything he was an ideal customer,
he didn’t cause a fuss, or fight or even spill anything, just sat there minding
his own business and being hated for it.
===============================================================================
 
“Not the most popular guy, are you?” Mizuki remarked good-naturedly as he began
collecting dirty glasses from the tables, stacking them neatly into the
dishwasher, sound of rushing water loud as he dampened a cloth to wipe sticky
surfaces with. Last orders had been called half an hour ago, and the other
customers had slowly walked, stumbled, or been carried out to carry on their
nights, leaving only Sly, Mizuki and another bartender.
“Surprised you noticed,” the sarcasm in his tone was almost biting and he just
shook his head in amusement, because really, how could anybody dislike somebody
this fast at a comeback?
“I’m very observant,” he replied calmly, wondering how on earth Sly seemed so
coherent after drinking an entire bottle of vodka, he knew very few people who
could manage that, and the ones who could were a damn sight bigger than him.
But he couldn't very well ask now, he had to finish tidying up so he could go
home, eat some reheated noodles and crawl into bed. Telling the other, Hideaki,
that he was going to check the stock room and offering Sly a smile as he
disappeared, leaving him with his increasingly nervous looking coworker.
===============================================================================
 
“Oh, you can go if you want, Hideaki, I can finish up.” Mizuki seemed surprised
that the other bartender was still there when he returned, lifting chairs onto
tables in preparation for sweeping Mizuki normally did the next morning, too
tired to do it at night when he really should.
The addressed paused, eyes flashing over to Sly as he’d expected before
returning back to Mizuki’s, “you sure?” His words were casual enough, but both
Sly and Mizuki had caught onto his hidden meaning, will you be okay with him?
“Honestly, I’m fine,” Mizuki grinned, not letting it bother him even though his
eyes had creased for a second as if hurt, small movement not missed by piercing
yellow.
“But Mizuki, he’s…” This was more blatant and the bartenders jaw hardened
though his smile remained sunny and almost unnervingly calm.
“Just finishing his drink, it’s not even closing time yet, I can hardly kick
him out, and he's not causing any trouble.” He reasoned, raising one hand as if
to say there was nothing he could do about it, and it was true that if it was
anybody else he wouldn’t have any reason to throw them out early, so why should
he do that to Sly?
It was obvious he didn’t like it, frowning and looking indecisive even as he
nodded, shooting Sly a look less aggressive than he was used to, more confused
than anything else, maybe wondering why he hadn’t caused trouble, why he wasn’t
objecting to being talked about. “Alright, cheers boss.”
“Sure thing, oh, I just remembered, I saw Natsumi last week, how’s she doing?”
He continued to clean as he spoke, and Hideaki’s shoulders relaxed somewhat,
presumably that was his wife, or just a girlfriend, Sly didn’t know, he didn't
really care.
“She’s great, due any day now,” he paused for a second to check his coil,
excitement clear in his glittering eyes as he looked back up.
“Tonight’s your last shift right?” He asked, removing a piece of paper,
presumably some kind of shift schedule from behind the bar, examining it as the
other nodded. “Alright cool, well tell her I said hi, and don’t forget to send
me a picture so I can show the guys.”
“I won’t, thanks Mizuki! Night,” he left with a grin he hadn’t had two minutes
previously, walking into the night and closing the door behind him, leaving the
two of them alone.
“He was friendly,” Sly commented dryly, emptying the remainder of the bottle
into his glass and promptly downing it, letting the burn settle in his throat,
reminding him not to say anything he wouldn’t while not under the influence. He
licked his lips as Mizuki turned those olive eyes his way, offering an
apologetic shrug that made his shoulders roll deliciously, Sly’s eyes following
the strain of his biceps as he emptied the tray of steaming glasses from the
dishwasher and began putting them away, still hot.
“He’s just looking out for me, you have quite the reputation,” his smile was
playful and it made something warm rise in Sly’s chest, blaming the alcohol for
his sudden interest in the bartenders movements, noticing a glimpse of white
tattoo on his back as his vest rode up. Now that was interesting, he wondered
absently where else he was inked as he lit a new cigarette, picturing his back,
tanned skin richly muscled and white snakes, or perhaps a dragon, worming its
way down the smooth sinews of his skin.
“Hadn’t noticed,” he remarked, suddenly seeing the contrast between their
conversation when he first entered and this, wondering if Mizuki had done it on
purpose, it was clever if he had. His eyes flicked to the clock above the bar,
2.12am, not too bad he guessed, but he should leave now if he wanted to get to
his dealer before he disappeared into a club for the night, standing up and
ignoring the way his stool scraped the ground.
“You going?” Mizuki asked, bundle of keys suddenly in his hand, maybe thinking
he’d lock up after Sly left, not that he’d care if he was in the way.
“Got some business to do,” he shrugged, sliding the empty bottle down the bar
to Mizuki, sleeves rolling up for a second and suddenly dark eyes focusing on
the rope burns on his wrists, not bothering to hide them, because why should
he? He nodded towards the bottle as he spoke, unfamiliar word leaving his lips
tingling strangely, “thanks.”
“Sure, I almost thought you were going to try and crash on my couch again,” he
looked almost amused rather than irritated, perhaps having thought that from
the moment Sly walked in.
“Nah, I’d just break in if I wanted to do that,” he smirked, knowing the
bartender wouldn’t even doubt it, he’d done it twice before after all, and with
no repercussions, in fact he’d gotten a free breakfast twice, it was rather a
nice arrangement and he had no plan of letting it go. “I just came to get
drunk.”
“And are you?” Sly blinked, whether the alcohol was dimming his senses, he
didn’t know, but he’d been too focused staring at the bartenders lips to
actually hear him, blinking absently from behind a cloud of smoke. “Drunk?”
“Hm, little bit. It’s cool though, I’ll be fucked up by three.” It was true, he
didn’t know what his dealer would give him, it tended to differ week by week,
but he knew that when he got it he’d be gone within a very short time. Maybe
he’d suck a few guys off first to earn a bit more money, he’d needed a new
blanket for a while and despite his best efforts he hadn’t managed to steal one
yet, maybe he should try to actually pay for something for once.
“You gunna be okay getting home?” Mizuki looked genuinely concerned, green eyes
crinkling in the corners and forehead furrowing under his fringe, pushed back
off his face and glistening with sweat, because it was suddenly a million
degrees in the bar.
But then his words sunk in and Sly was cold, scowling and almost angry because
fuck him, “I can look after myself.”
His words were venomous, but Mizuki barely blinked, just grinning disarmingly,
“I don’t doubt it. I just wouldn’t want a valued customer getting hurt.” His
smile said he knew what a ridiculous excuse it was, but Sly had the feeling he
was the kinda guy who’d go out of his way to help somebody get home if they
were drunk. He couldn’t help but feel condescended by the special treatment
though, because he wasn’t a child, he’d been fine by himself all these years,
who did Mizuki think he was? Some kind of superhero? Come along to change Sly
and save him from his evil ways? Mizuki, redeemer, something about it left a
stale taste in Sly’s mouth, and even Mizuki’s upwards stretch and the tightness
of his muscle vest couldn’t wash it away.
“I’m not the one who’ll get hurt.”
Mizuki’s expression faltered, because he could go from warm to icy in seconds
and he wasn’t used to that, couldn’t adjust to his two sides, one almost
playful, with snide jabs and witty comebacks, and this one with glares and
threats and hardness he shouldn’t have at his age.
“Well that’s reassuring I suppose,” he bounced back remarkably fast, and that
was impressive, earning an amused huff of air from his guest, who turned and
walked to the door without looking back, barely hesitating at his parting jab.
“Need me to hold your hair back if you’re sick?”
He was glad the bartender couldn’t see his face as he cracked an only mildly
offended smile, raising a middle finger in his direction and yelling his
goodbye into the night air, trusting he heard it. “Fuck you, asshole!”
===============================================================================
 
Mizuki’s laughter echoed after him all the way to the club, resounding in his
head as he swallowed and wiped salt from his lips, grunted at the hard fingers
in his hair and thrust crumpled notes into his pocket. It followed him home
where he stabbed a needle into his arm and flopped onto his mattress fully
dressed, waiting for it to hit and annihilate everything he knew, especially
the warm feeling that lingered in his chest.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It was way too fucking early for this, there was frost on the ground for gods’
sakes, who’d be out this early except morons and people hurrying to work with
heads bowed and no intention to cause trouble? But still, here he was,
patrolling Dry Juice’s turf just in case somebody tried to stake a claim to it
at 7am, what was even more annoying was that he was only doing this because he
couldn’t sleep and the normal guy had called in sick, though he sounded more
hungover. But in spite of his protestations, here he was, thinking to himself
he’d rather be in bed or doing something actually useful like going for a jog,
looking almost longingly at his normal route up through to the junk yards. He
huffed a sigh, taking a drink of the flask of coffee in his hand and just being
thankful he could wrap up warm, wondering absently if Hayato, Sora and Nobu
were okay, they had just moved into an apartment together, which to his
knowledge still had no heating. He decided to drop them a line later just in
case, he couldn’t have his team getting sick, not if the rumours that there was
a new team steadily gaining members were true, he refused to lose their
position as number one on the island.
He shivered despite his thick hoodie and double layered t-shirts under it,
wishing he’d thought to bring a scarf, though his hood kept his ears warm and
his nose wasn’t running quite yet, so he supposed it could be worse. He knew
the route like the back of his hand, turning left down an even smaller
alleyway, only wide enough for one person at a time and crisscrossing with
pipes and ventilation ducts that spewed out steam. It ended suddenly, at Dry
Juice’s official hangout, looking the same as always, tag art resplendent and
not yet fading where it graced the wide set of stairs and some of the boarded
up windows and walls surrounding it. The crates and empty fuel canisters where
people sometimes sat to play cards were still set up, and everything seemed to
be in order, as he’d expected. There was some noise coming from the alleyway
across from the stairs though, the one he knew led to a dead end, a fairly
sized rectangle where he often let the team practice fighting, as long as they
didn’t actually hurt each other too bad.
It was probably just some kids messing around, like those three brats he knew
enjoyed destroying stores then running away, two boys and a girl he thought
they were, wiping his nose as he strode confidently down the alley. He ducked
under a thick black pipe, cracked and useless, dripping cold water into a
puddle on the potholed ground underneath, eyes regarding the smashed glass and
the broken splinters of wood, those were new.
He knew what he was dealing with the second he saw them, dressed totally
inadequately for the cold but pretending not to shiver, the nearest man to him
had an outlandish Mohawk type hairstyle. But it was the tattoo that made him
groan softly even as he carefully picked his way over the hazard strewn floor,
sidestepping a nail gracefully, a bikini-clad woman, with grossly blown-up
breasts, riding a hot pink bomb.
Bug Bomb, again, did they ever do anything but cause trouble? It seemed not,
three of them were surrounding another, smaller looking guy who was pressed up
against the wall, and on Dry Juice turf too, one of them having the audacity to
rest his palm on their tag art.
He didn’t say anything, but he was exasperated because this happened a lot,
they had no sense of how Rib even worked and walked around as if everywhere was
theirs, waiting til members of other teams dispersed before moving to stand in
their areas as if they’d actually done something to earn a place there. In
terms of actual fighting to earn their own turf, they never seemed to show any
interest in it, usually running from a fight unless it was against a weaker
opponent, as seemed to be the case here. He cleared his throat as he
approached, raising an unimpressed eyebrow and knowing his appearance alone
would be enough to scare them away from whoever they were harassing, it usually
was.
“What do you want asshole?” One of them demanded, clearly not recognising him,
maybe because of the hood over his head, expression turning steely as he pulled
it down, not used to being addressed so rudely by trash like this and not
particularly appreciating it.
His friend turned at the disturbance too, sneer falling into the look of pure
panic he’d expected, elbowing his friend hard in the side hard and earning a
growl of annoyance and an open handed smack to the back of his head. “Shut up
idiot! That’s Mizuki!” He almost hissed it, regarding him like one might a
particularly terrifying teacher and promptly backing away, smile almost
apologetic, though Mizuki didn’t give a single fuck how apologetic they might
be.
“Who?” The third spoke up now, and he was either a new member or had his tattoo
in an unsavoury location, Mizuki didn’t really care to think about that,
listening with vague amusement as they talked about him instead of just doing
what they were bound to do anyway, running.
“He’s the leader of Dry Juice! The biggest team on the island,” he hissed,
offering Mizuki a rather thin smile in apology. “We were just cleaning up for
you.”
His raised eyebrow and step forwards made them back away as one, eyes too
focused on them, because really they were too fun to scare, “on my team’s
turf?”
“Um…” It was obvious they hadn’t expected to be caught, looking between each
other as if trying to find some way to avoid a fight that wasn’t coming, Mizuki
was bored of them by now though, they obviously didn’t have two brain cells to
rub together.
His raised hand made one of them audibly whimper and he heard a snort from
their still unidentified victim, just behind him, pointing his thumb back down
the alleyway. “Go on, fuck off.” It took another step forwards and a vaguely
stern look before they were fleeing, arguing amongst themselves even as they
ran, because apparently one of them had told them it was a bad idea. “Jesus…”
He shook his head as he watched them go, rubbing a hand across his forehead and
turning to their potential victim with a concerned expression, glad he seemed
to have arrived before things got nasty. “Hey, are you oka-“
He froze, words dying in his mouth, because he recognised that amused smirk,
yellow eyes gleaming up at him from where he stood quite casually, leaning on
the wall and examining his fingernails absently as if he hadn’t just been
outnumbered, three to one.
“Sly,” he remarked, and honestly he wasn’t even surprised it had been him, who
else was so hated they would encourage one team to wander into another’s
territory just to pick a fight with them? “Why am I not surprised? Having fun,
were you?”
“You know me,” he shrugged, smirk almost friendly and presumably whatever
personality trait that had set the Bug Bomb guys against him wiped away, if
anything he looked quite approachable now, maybe even pleasant. “Making new
friends every day.”
He snorted at that, because Sly and making friends were not things anybody
would associate with each other, he was more likely to make enemies, and
seemingly had just this morning. “With Bug Bomb? What awful taste.”
“Oh they’re good for a laugh,” Mizuki had to agree, if any Rib team could be
deemed shambolic and unorganised it was Bug Bomb, who seemingly had no leader,
no rules and could be joined by anybody getting the tattoo and announcing
themselves a member.
“So what did you do to piss them off? And don’t say nothing,” although, from
what he knew of Sly’s reputation from Tio and the rest of his team, it was very
possible they’d picked a fight with him purely for being him.
“I was just having a nice, early morning run, and they decided to follow me,”
he spoke as if he’d been attacked for no good reason, but Mizuki’s eyes had
narrowed at his innocent tone, because that wasn’t him.
“Running from who?”
“Do I have to be running from someone? You have no faith in me,” he remarked,
but he was grinning, face dropping into a truer expression a second later. “I
got caught trying to nick something, their gran owns the shop or some shit.”
“Hm,” Mizuki laughed out a huff of air, because of course it was something like
that, his lie of going on a casual run hadn’t tricked him for a second, it
seemed like exactly the sort of thing he would do, and Mizuki supposed if he
was in Bug Bomb’s place, he might have given chase too. “What were you trying
to steal?”
His eyes had narrowed, relaxed expression closed off again behind his mask of
self-preservation, “why you want to know?”
The bartender shrugged, taking the last mouthful of his coffee and immediately
mourning its loss, metal already cooling against his hand, “nosiness,
curiosity, call it what you will.”
Sly seemed to weigh this up for a second, nose flushed red with cold and hood
of his thin jacket pulled up over his head, hiding his trademark blue hair and
chunky headphones, maybe trying to be invisible. He answered grudgingly,
staring off at a used needle in one corner of the dead end, “blanket.”
Mizuki blinked, because he hadn’t expected that, he’d thought maybe he’d say
cigarettes or alcohol, or perhaps some trinket that caught his eye, but a
blanket? Something so basic and essential seemed almost cruel to deny him, even
if he was stealing it, “It is getting colder.”
“Yeah,” he replied, eyebrows crinkled almost in disbelief at the obviousness of
his words, but clearly trying to change the subject, looking distinctly
uncomfortable.
“What do you think they were going to do?” He asked, he knew Bug Bomb weren’t
exactly the most ethically sound team, so beating Sly up for an attempted theft
did not sound below them.
“Beat the shit out of me,” he spoke like it was obvious, seemingly not at all
bothered by how close he’d come to being beaten, and probably fairly badly too,
just shrugging like it was normal, which he guessed it probably was. “But
luckily I had my Prince Charming to come save me.”
“Not superman any more then?” He asked, and he was grinning, because Sly was a
piece of work, and he wanted to know him better, his shifts in personality and
expression fascinated him, how rapidly he could shift to a cheeky teenager was
almost disorientating.
“Nah, you got promoted,” he was searching his pocket, removing a packet of
cigarettes and lighting one, pursing his lips at the box for a second before
offering Mizuki it, scoffing softly as he shook his head and removed his own
pack. It felt somehow cruel to take his cigarettes when he obviously had to
risk a beating just to get them, plus the pack only had two left and Mizuki
made it a rule not to take anybody’s last cigarettes, even if they insisted.
He lit up too and exhaled white smoke into the cold air, dragon breath filling
the space between them, the silence was rather nice, and once again he wondered
why people hated Sly so much, sure he had questionable methods of getting
things, but Mizuki’s experience of him had yet to become unpleasant. But still,
something was on his mind, “pretty shitty to beat you up when you didn’t
actually steal anything.”
He was almost frowning, eyes downcast as he tapped ash off his cigarette and
watched it tumble to the ground, “yeah well, people don’t exactly need a
reason.”
He was going to object, to say that beating somebody up for something they’d
done to someone else was shitty, not to mention illogical, but Sly was standing
up off the wall, straightening out his jacket and pulling his earphones up.
“As lovely as this was,” his expression spoke false politeness, but his smirk
was teasing as he span round on his heel, walking backwards out of the alley
and ducking the pipe without even looking. "I have beatings to avoid so…”
Mizuki snorted at that, only Sly could use that as a way to end a conversation,
“don’t get killed,” he yelled after his now retreating back.
“I make no promises!” He called back, and what was most worrying was that he,
of all people, really couldn’t make promises about that, Mizuki had the nasty
feeling a few people on the island wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, or at least
inadvertently finish him off.
===============================================================================
 
The temperature continued to plummet that week, winter seemingly coming early
for the residents of Midorijima, who had to change from short sleeves and sun
hats to scarves and gloves within what seemed like a few days. People
everywhere were talking of the mainland being effected too, but obviously they
were worse off, stuck in the middle of the ocean, icy winds came from every
direction and the cold breeze from the sea chilled to the bone. Already Mizuki
had dragged his extra blanket out of the attic along with his warmer clothes,
matching beanie and scarf, and his trusty fingerless gloves, or hobo gloves as
his team affectionately called them. His plans of a week before to begin
jogging in the mornings again fell away as he attempted one day only to feel
like he was dying as he choked in icy breaths, body shivering as his sweat
dried and almost seemed to freeze on his skin, and he vowed to just use his
treadmill instead.
As usual, plans were put into action in case some of the team got sick, as they
always did when it got cold, one member already suffering with nasty flu and
others getting sick every day, with small colds, or with more serious ailments.
The bar was to be opened only on Friday and Saturday night, though tattoo
appointments could still be made and handled by Mizuki, he knew people didn’t
want to walk to the bar in this cold, whether to work or for entertainment.
With the team unofficially disbanded for winter, and the bar almost always
shut, Mizuki was almost starved for things to do, finding himself cleaning of
all things, sorting out the attic and carrying armfuls of crap down to the bins
in the alleyway that led to his apartment.
All kinds of things he’d forgotten about were in there, old pictures from the
orphanage, school books and novels he had no memory of reading, clothes from
years passed with ‘property of Midorijima children’s home’ stamped in them.
Most went straight in the bin, one pile of stuff he was keeping remained but he
would probably never look at again, like the photograph albums and a couple of
things he’d made as an institutionalised child.
Another pile he deemed ‘useful’ and had stuff like a sleeping bag, a selection
of kitchenware he didn’t remember buying, and a fold out camping chair he also
had no memory of. These were things he probably would never use, but might be
of use to somebody else, the sleeping bag for example, made his mind turn to
Sly for the first time in days, thinking it seemed like exactly what he needed.
But the problem was, he had no way of getting it to him, other than carrying it
around the streets in the hope he saw him, which left another problem, he had
an issue with charity, that was obvious when he tried to repay Mizuki for
breakfast with sex. Just the thought made him cringe, something inside him
objecting deeply to the way he sought to repay kindness, using his own body as
a means of thanks when just a smile would do.
For now all he could do was put the small pile in his apartment, using the
corner opposite his desk as storage space and deciding to ask his team if they
wanted any of it, and if not to give it to a charity shop when it got warmer
again.
===============================================================================
 
It was hot in his apartment now, too hot, he gasped for breath as the sweat on
his skin trickled down his back unpleasantly, soaking the waistband of his
shorts as he slowed his jog to a walk and finally turned the treadmill off
altogether. There was no way he could work out in this heat without passing
out, grabbing a towel to dry his face and sweaty hair and walking out of his
small gym to turn the thermostat down a good few degrees so he wouldn’t sweat
to death. He headed straight for it, luckily it was just outside the gym door
so he didn’t have to stop his workout for long, twisting it down and hoping it
would cool quickly, he didn’t want his muscles to relax or he might strain
himself. His arm was cramping uncomfortably at his side and his throat was dry,
stretching out the sore limb as he walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of
water, cracking it open and taking a deep drink, sighing in relief because God
that was-
“Holy shit!” The bottle fell to the ground and icy water covered his feet and
legs, which admittedly wasn’t too bad, but the minor heart attack he swore he’d
just had was, intruder regarding him with a raised eyebrow as if he hadn’t
broken in. He was choking on his own spit, he was sure of that, breaking into a
rather unattractive coughing fit as his lungs tried to murder him, finally
managing a glare, throwing his sweat-soaked towel at his uninvited guest. “Are
you trying to kill me?!”
He easily dodged the towel, grimacing as it landed damply on the floor beside
him, but shaking his head and turning back to the bartender whose home he’d
intruded upon. “You’d know if I was doing that,” Sly remarked calmly, acting as
if he was meant to be there, sat on his sofa and smoking a cigarette from the
packet he’d left on the coffee table. “Nah, everywhere is shut so I was gunna
steal your food instead, thought you’d be at work.”
“We… We’re shut for winter,” he explained, too alarmed and confused to be able
to say anything more intelligent, like ‘how the fuck did you get in?’ or, ‘you
could have just fucking knocked!’
“Ah. Well I came for food, but I didn’t expect a show too,” his grin turned
almost dirty and Mizuki looked down at himself in realisation, wearing nothing
but his gym shorts and trainers, sweat trickling down his torso. All in all it
was quite the visual, and Sly seemed to be fully enjoying it, yellow eyes
following the trail of a sweat drop down his navel, tilting his head to the
side appreciatively.
“A criminal and a pervert,” Mizuki remarked, but he made no attempt to cover
himself up, he didn’t really see the point, he’d already informed Sly that he
was off limits, and he was very aware he could easily fight him off, were it to
somehow come to that. “Aren’t I the lucky one?”
“You sure are,” he beamed, smile wide and eyes finally off his torso, trying to
pretend his cheeks weren’t pink with the focused attention he’d been giving
him, specifically his chest. “So, how about that food?”
“Go grab whatever,” he really didn’t care, he was planning on living on
takeaway, ramen and anything microwavable over the winter break, so anything
Sly took he could easily replace.
===============================================================================
 
It wasn’t until Sly returned from the kitchen, after the alarming sound of all
his cupboards opening and closing at least four times and the horrible jangling
of the fridge door slamming, that he remembered the sleeping bag.
“Oh, I just remembered,” he remarked, finding it in its blue bag and picking it
up so Sly could see. “I found this in the attic and thought you might want it.”
“What is it?” He asked, regarding the nondescript sack with curiosity rather
than annoyance, though Mizuki knew that would appear the moment he realised he
was being offered something else for free.
“Sleeping bag, I’m not going to use it so I figured I’d give it to you,” he
shrugged, he knew anybody else would understand his reasoning, maybe ask if he
was sure, then having gained reassurance that it was in fact, fine, would take
it graciously, but this was Sly.
“Why?” The suspicion in his voice was obvious, jaw suddenly set hard as he
regarded the sleeping bag Mizuki was proffering, feeling more like a moron the
longer he just held it there and eventually lowering it. He’d known Sly
wouldn’t exactly like it, but his straight up caution was almost too much.
“Call it a Christmas present,” he shrugged, because if that made him feel
better about it then why not? All he knew was that he wanted Sly to have it,
he’d get a damn lot of use out of it, and with the plummeting temperatures it
meant he might live through winter with all his toes intact.
“I don’t do Christmas,” his voice was steely and firm, yellow eyes narrow and
glaring at him as if disgusted he’d even try and offer him charity like this,
so blatantly. Maybe he was still thinking of ulterior motives and evil plots to
somehow kill him with kindness, constantly calculating risk and danger levels
in his mind so he could never just accept a nice gesture.
“Me neither,” Mizuki responded quickly, eyes locking and waiting to see who
would cave first, and of course it was Sly, because he did need something new
to sleep under, that was why he’d tried to steal a blanket the last time he’d
seen the bartender. He almost wondered if his story of finding it in the attic
was true, he wouldn’t put it past him to go out and buy it deliberately
intending to give it to him, he was just a nice guy like that.
“Fine, shouldn’t I give you a Christmas present too then?” He asked eyebrow
raised as if expecting Mizuki to actually consider it, not surprised as his
expression softened into an almost exasperated grin, biting his bottom lip in
frustration.
“Not the kind of present you’re thinking of,” he responded, fully expecting the
pout his words received, wondering how it was that somebody as seemingly hard
as Sly could pull an expression so sweet.
“You’re no fun.” He sulked, sliding down to sit on the sofa and not reacting as
Mizuki scoffed quietly, because he was fun, he just wasn’t the kind of fun that
enjoyed receiving sexual favours from sixteen year olds, no matter how good
they reported being. “At least let me do something to show my gratitude.”
Gratitude was not the word he thought of when he saw Sly accept his gifts, it
was more like begrudging acceptance and no small amount of reluctance, so he
knew immediately this was a ploy to guilt trip him into accepting his…
gratitude.
“Nope,” he answered easily, retrieving his towel and using it to sponge the
back of his neck dry, wiping it through his hair and ruffling it with his
fingers.
“Come on, we don’t have to fuck, I could just suck you off?” His yellow eyes
followed him as he pulled on a red hoodie, zipping it up halfway and growing
alarmingly aware of the attention Sly had focused on his nipples, flushing pink
even as he responded firmly.
“Not going to happen.”
“Hand job?”
“No?”
“Foot job?”
“Sly,” he turned to him warningly, although that last suggestion had at least
made him smile purely with its ridiculousness, because surely such a thing
wouldn’t work, or, he almost hoped it wouldn’t. Shaking his head to wipe out
some rather worrying images that made him cringe, because feet were nothis
thing.
“Kiss under the mistletoe?” He finished, but the almost unpleasant leer in his
voice had gone and he finally sounded almost genuine, drawing an almost soft
look from the bartender, although his mouth was still set in a frown.
“I don’t have mistletoe,” he reasoned, because why would he? He’d never really
celebrated Christmas since he’d left the orphanage, except getting drunk and
eating especially good food, so why would he have something like that?”
Sly considered this a minute, stuffing the sleeping bag into his gym bag and
zipping it up before standing, “well I don’t need the mistletoe.”
Mizuki supposed he should be flattered, here he was, with a sixteen year old
boy desperate to have sex with him, just to kiss him by the sound of it, but it
just rubbed him up the wrong way. As attractive as Sly might be, and he could
well be with a good wash, a month of decent meals and some clean clothes, he
was sixteen, and something about his attitude just made him feel uncomfortable.
He’d let himself be kissed by him once, but he wasn’t going to let it happen
again, this crush he seemed to have, or whatever it was, had to die, he
wouldn’t encourage it.
“You could just say thank you,” he sighed, because it was almost tiring
bantering with Sly like this, as much as he enjoyed it, especially so today
since he’d been alone for so long.
Sly rolled his eyes, heading towards the door which Mizuki didn’t need to
unlock, his guest had already picked the lock to get in after all, holding it
open for him. He made sure to leave some space between them, he wouldn’t be
surprised if the other just jumped him when they were in such close quarters.
“Fine, thank you,” his tone was sincere and Mizuki smiled, because that was
more like it, inclining his head and managing a smile that was almost warm, it
did funny things to his stomach he refused to acknowledge.
Relieved he was going to leave without groping or otherwise attempting to
seduce him in any way, Mizuki let his guard down, jumping as history repeated
itself, and Sly’s lips met his once more. But it was the hand on his chest that
made him jerk back, whacking his head off the door as Sly just laughed, fingers
playing across the firm muscle and smiling quite smugly.
“Mm, even better than it looks,” he almost purred, and the way he bit his
bottom lip and smiled was so distracting that he was leaving before Mizuki
could even reply, offering a flirty wave on his way down the stairs.
“S-Stop molesting me!” He yelled after him, only hearing laughter in his wake
and a plume of smoke coming up to fill his nostrils as he closed the door
behind him, frowning because fuck, Sly was going to be a lot of trouble wasn’t
he?
Chapter End Notes
     Let's all take a second to appreciate that topless, sweaty Mizuki
     aesthetic
***** Chapter 5 *****
It wasn’t until after Christmas, or Mizuki’s watered down version anyway, that
he saw Sly again, but so much happened in such a short space of time that any
thoughts of him were wiped from his mind. The team reformed, and things went
back to normal, reclaiming some of the turf they’d lost over their inactive
period, just as they did every year, but this time, something had gone horribly
wrong.
He could only remember pain, searing through his stomach, warmth on his hand
and shouting voices, then the floor rushed up to meet him.
He didn’t know what had happened til three days later, and even then he wasn’t
sure how things had gone so badly wrong. According to Tio, things had been
proceeding as normal, they had the upper hand and the other team was going to
back off and let them reclaim their land, the next thing he knew somebody drew
a knife, there was blood and yelling, somebody crumpled to the ground. Mizuki,
driven on instinct and adrenalin and the need to keep his team safe at all
costs, went to try and wrestle the knife away, then suddenly it was sticking
out of his stomach, five inches of metal buried deep within him.
So fast, so out of nowhere, a knife brought to a fist fight, a cheap tactic by
the other team, who had since dissolved, though that didn’t soothe him much,
asking with a wobbling voice what happened to the guy who went down before him.
“He’s dead, Mizuki.”
His breath caught in his throat and the hospital bed sheets suddenly felt like
razor wire wrapping around his chest, everything fading down to the sound of
his heart monitor beeping and the pounding of his blood through his ears. “W-
Who was it?”
He took a steadying breath before he spoke, but Mizuki didn’t notice, “Yasu.”
He felt his world crumble as the name registered, Yasu, who he’d only tattooed
a few days ago, who had only just joined, barely eighteen, full of enthusiasm
and energy and smiles, whose mother had been worried about him joining but whom
he had ignored. Who’d had so much faith and trust in Mizuki, who had
inadvertently led him to his death.
He felt like he was going to be sick, and Tio’s hand on his didn’t help,
shaking him off and blinking, expression blank because how was he expected to
register this? Somebody was dead, one of his team was gone, just like that, one
bad fight and his life was over as if it had never mattered.
“Mizuki, it’s not you faul-“
“Go home,” his voice shook as he spoke, swallowing back the vomit that rose in
his throat and ignoring the burning of his eyes, ignoring his objections and
refusing to look at him, because how could he? How could he go back to being
the fearless team leader after this disaster? “Go home, Tio.”
What could he do but listen? Turning to leave, mouth parted as if trying to
think of something to say, words failing as he just shut the door behind him
and left Mizuki alone, guilt roiling in his gut and steady beeping of the
machines that surrounded him doing nothing to comfort him.
===============================================================================
 
Nearly two weeks, two surgeries later, about a million blood tests and more
examinations than he ever hoped to undergo again, and he was cleared to go
home, packing up the small bag of stuff Tio had brought and leaving the get
well cards behind. Instead of doing what he’d been recommended, and trying to
rest but also to stay fairly mobile to distract him from the grief, he’d
spiralled into a depression like state. He didn’t get dressed, or get off the
sofa, some days he just stayed in bed, he didn’t re-dress his wound like he was
meant to, he barely ate and did nothing but blankly watch TV with an expression
so dead Tio’s constant smile faded then fell away.
He was miserable, overwhelmed with guilt and didn’t know how to deal with
anything. He was in pain but refused to take his medication because he deserved
it, deserved to feel bad for what he’d inadvertently caused to happen. Yasu was
dead, and it was nobody’s fault but his, he hadn’t gotten there fast enough, he
could have stopped it and he hadn’t managed it.
It was his fault, and it was killing him, one day at a time.
===============================================================================
 
He ignored the knock at the door, it would either be Tio, who had a key, or one
of the team, and he didn’t want to see either. But the knocking got almost
violent, and he couldn’t ignore it, whoever it was wouldn’t fuck off and he was
almost angry because why wouldn’t they leave him alone? Why must they insist on
trying to cheer him up, to defer blame when he knew it was all his fault and
nothing they said would change that? But no, he wouldn’t fucking answer, they
could knock until their knuckles were bloody, he didn’t have to let anybody in,
he was allowed some time to himself wasn’t he? He’d been fucking stabbed after
all.
But whoever it was didn’t seem to care that he needed rest and recuperation,
beginning some incredibly loud and annoying knocking combo, with feet and fists
it seemed, door actually shaking when he looked over. He bit his tongue,
because he would not go to the door, he wouldn’t let in another well-wisher
with a box of chocolates and a nervous speech about how great he always was as
a leader and how he shouldn’t let one mistake bring him down. Because it was
too fucking late, he was already as down as he could ever be and no amount of
get well gifts would help.
But this fucker at the door going away, that would help. He threw the blanket
off him aggressively, groaning as he realised he had once again forgotten the
new weaknesses of his body, holding his stomach instinctively right over where
the knife had plunged in. Whatever, stab wound or not this bastard at the door
was getting their ass handed to them, or they would when he got there, walking
slowly to not pull his stitches, head pounding from standing up so suddenly and
dizziness overcoming him for a second.
Thank God for peepholes, one glance through it cleared up his anger
immediately, because that blue hair could only belong to one person, and that
scowl wasn’t on the face of somebody who’d try to make him feel better If
anything he’d probably come to gloat, that was if he even knew, or maybe he
just wanted to steal his stuff again, either was fine, he really didn’t care.
Unlocking the door and meeting his scowl blankly, because it really didn’t
bother him, not even Sly, notorious asshole could make him feel worse now.
“Sly,” he remarked blankly, and his guests face faltered because he didn’t make
some witty remark about him actually being able to knock, just walking slowly
to sit back down on the sofa, easing himself into his seat with a wince. “What
do you want?
His welcome was less than warm, and he frowned for a second, before quickly
regaining his usual attitude, smirking as he moved so he could see the
bartender better. “Heard you got stabbed, wanted to see if it was true. Guess
it is.” He took in the livid black eye with a sympathetic hiss, because his
entire left eye was swollen shut, it was a shiner and a half, bruising
spreading all down his cheek to his jaw where a white bandage stood out harshly
on his tanned skin.
“Good to know everyone’s talking about it.” His words might have been joking,
but his expression hadn’t changed and Sly’s grin failed at his almost dead
tone, not rising or falling, but flat, emotionless. “Did you think my team was
lying?”
“You might have wanted time off,” he shrugged, and that made Mizuki smile for
the first time in what felt like days, absent and fading from his lips fast as
he remembered how it happened. His voice was softer as he spoke, though his
nosiness shone through in a way that Mizuki wasn’t sure he liked, refusing to
meet his yellow gaze, even with his good eye. “What happened?”
“Turf war, somebody pulled a knife.” He answered shortly, and Sly’s irritation
at his pathetic answer was obvious, not saying anything as he moved to perch on
the coffee table, shifting a packet of cigarettes and several empty beer
bottles out of his way.
“Yeah I worked that out for myself.” He regarded the other with interest,
scowling as he did nothing to entertain him, not even reacting as he stole a
cigarette and lit up. “Fucking hell, you’d think somebody had died.”
There was a silence in which Mizuki swallowed thickly, fingers coming to twist
together in his lap, then he spoke, and his voice was so cold, so blank that
Sly accidentally burnt himself on his cigarette. “Someone did.”
“One of theirs I hope,” he tried to chuckle, to lighten the mood, but Mizuki’s
glare fell on him and if he was a weaker man he would have flinched because it
was venomous, even with only one eye he managed to look enraged. He realised in
a second that he had been wrong, almost flinching as he realised he was being a
dick, more so than normal anyway. “Ah, shit. Well you’re gunna have a kick ass
scar now if nothing else, huh?”
Mizuki didn’t appreciate his attempts at lightening the situation one bit, even
if he was trying to cheer him up, it wasn’t working. He’d rather have Yasu
alive than have a ‘kick ass scar’, as Sly had put it. “It’s not funny, Sly,
someone died.”
“People die every day, what’s the big deal?” He asked, and it was his usual
attitude, but it struck Mizuki hard and he felt his nostrils flare because he
just didn’t get it.
“The big deal is that he was eighteen, the big deal is that it’s my fault, the
big deal is that he shouldn’t have fucking died, Sly.” His teeth were bared
almost in a snarl, because it wasn’t really Sly he was angry at, it was
himself, he knew Rib was dangerous, he knew people sometimes died, but he never
thought it would be his team. “I should have been able to protect him.”
It fell silent, a heavy sort of quiet, Mizuki buried in his grief and guilt and
anger, and Sly feeling awkward and a little bit shitty for acting like he had,
though guilt was a new emotion to him.
“You can’t protect everyone,” his voice was quiet and Mizuki finally looked up,
one green eye almost wet and the other still sealed firmly shut, livid purple,
yellow and black mottling his skin. “Besides, you got stabbed protecting him
didn’t you? I’d say you did your best.”
Mizuki swallowed hard, because how was it that Sly was the one person who’d
been able to comfort him, even a little? Tio had tried, coming by every day to
check on him and bring him supplies until he broke out of his depressed state
and got back to living again, other members had dropped in too, trying to help
him, but none had stayed long and their visits had left him feeling even worse.
Their attempts to alleviate his guilt only made him feel worse, because they
didn’t blame him for this, still looking up to their leader as if it wasn’t his
fault somebody was dead.
“I guess,” he shrugged, because it was true that the moment he saw the knife,
saw the body fall, he leapt into action, determined to protect his team from
the weapon, had literally put his life on the line for them and got stabbed for
his efforts. “I was too late though.”
“They shouldn’t have brought a weapon to a fist fight, even I don’t do that,”
and if Sly abided by that rule, then it said a lot for the one guy who hadn’t,
who had used lethal force to essentially secure a bit of ground, some fucking
earth, for his team. If that wasn’t a fucked up thing to do, then Mizuki didn’t
know what was. “Hurts like hell, right?”
The bartender thought about it for a second, assuming he meant the wound rather
than the death, because the pain had dulled a little now, but yeah, he guessed
it hurt, just shrugging before he registered Sly’s words better. “Oh, of course
you’ve been stabbed…”
“Twice,” he grinned, almost bragging, and Mizuki couldn’t help the upward
twitch of his lip because only he would show off about having been stabbed. “I
know something that’ll take your mind off it.”
He was speaking before he even took a second to register his genuine tone, not
the usual seductive air he gained while trying to worm his way into the
bartenders pants, frowning because now really wasn’t the best time. “Sly I
swear to God if you so much as try to-“
“Ah” He raised a finger, attempting to frown even as his lips twitched upwards,
amused that Mizuki’s first assumption was that he was once again offering to
molest him in some way. “That’s not what I meant. Unless..?” He trailed off, as
if leaving space for Mizuki to say that yes, he would actually like the sexual
favours he just vehemently objected to.
“No,” he answered shortly, and Sly shrugged, because that was what he’d been
expecting, not that he was going to stop trying though, he was persistent if
nothing else, certain he’d get the fuck he wanted soon enough, it was just a
matter of breaking him down slowly.
“I meant drugs.”
“I’m already on plenty of those,” he gestured to the orange tubs Sly sat
beside, painkillers, antibiotics, sleeping tablets, mood stabilisers,
mentioning the fact that most of the bottles were still full and unopened he
didn’t think was necessary, he didn’t deserve to feel better.
Sly rolled his eyes, because really, he said no to sex, now he said no to free
drugs, for a bartender and gang leader he seemed to be very dull. “I don’t mean
those kind of drugs, I’m thinking something a little more… herbal.”
“Weed?” he asked, expression doubtful, because chain smoking though he’d been,
he didn’t imagine getting high would help much, and he didn’t feel much like
doing something to ‘take his mind off it,’ that would be an insult to Yasu’s
memory.
“Well I’m not going to give you fucking hallucinogens am I? I don’t imagine you
much want to re-live it?” Not to mention that they were expensive and he only
had limited funds, having sucked two dicks just for the weed he was offering
now, enough for a few days but not many, not if he wanted to be high constantly
as he always did.
“Not particularly,” he spoke shortly, though he was impressed Sly had thought
about it enough to know hard drugs weren’t a good idea when he was in this
state, especially since he’d only found out a minute ago exactly what had
happened. Maybe he was more thoughtful than he imagined, after all he’d come
here seemingly to keep him company rather than to mock him in his weakened
state. But then maybe Mizuki was reading into it too much and he just wanted
somewhere warm and pleasant to stay for a while until he knew he had to leave
and go onto the still cold streets again. “I shouldn’t though, I’m on enough as
it is. You can though, I don’t really care, just don’t whip out heroin or
something.”
Sly snorted, and Mizuki thought it was at the idea of doing heroin, but moments
later he spoke and proved him wrong, as he had so many times before. “I only do
that on weekends.”
“Oh well isn’t that reassuring,” he muttered, though he knew he had less than
no say in any drugs Sly might take, still he watched as Sly rolled a joint with
remarkable ease, lighting up almost immediately. There were dark bags under his
eyes and his hands were shaking almost violently, “you look tired.”
“So would you if you lived in a leaky piece of shit warehouse.” The irony of
Mizuki being concerned about him didn’t escape Sly, who just regarded the large
box of messy medical supplies beside him on the sofa absently, taking in the
bandages and sterile dressings.
“Hm,” he nodded, because that was true he supposed, but he doubted Sly was in
any position to climb the housing ladder, or even get a foot on it, probably
already illegally squatting in ‘his’ warehouse as it was. “Did the sleeping bag
help?”
He looked confused for a moment, then pissed off, then just neutral again, face
flicking through so many emotions in less than a second, too fast for Mizuki to
read. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Good.”
===============================================================================
 
Sly it seemed, had indeed come to steal food, explaining with much reluctance
that he had attempted to break in the normal way, by climbing onto the bins,
jumping up to the fire escape and shimmying the window catch, but had realised
the window was frozen shut and had resorted to knocking instead.
“Like a normal person,” Mizuki remarked, feeling somewhat lighter than he had
in a while, though he blamed the cannabis in the air more than the light
conversation they’d had, though he had to admit, it was nice to talk about
something other than what had happened for once.
“Yeah, because I’m definitely a normal person,” his snort was derisive and
Mizuki smiled softly, almost reaching his one eye this time, nodding because
yeah, Sly was a terrible example of normality by anyone’s standards.
“Definitely not. I guess you took food while I was pissing?”
“You took like forever and I got bored,” he shrugged, and it was a legitimate
enough explanation he supposed, he’d already said he’d come for food, if he
then didn’t take any it would be suspicious.
“Well I apologise, I kinda got stabbed, I’ll make sure to check with you next
time somebody tries to stick a six inch knife into my stomach,” his words were
sarcastic and a little cold but he could still feel the ghost of a smile on the
edges of his lips, just hoping it wouldn’t fail completely again.
“Stomach, huh? Nasty,” he didn’t look impressed but his words were, sympathetic
hiss of air seeming disorientating, obviously false as he promptly dropped his
gaze to his stomach as if trying to see the wound though his t-shirt.
“You didn’t know? I thought you would,” he was genuinely surprised, this whole
time he’d thought Sly knew and now he didn’t, he was even more confused. For
all he knew, he could have been stabbed in the hand or somewhere else far less
serious, so then why had he come?
“I could hardly ask somebody could I?” He didn’t sound bothered, but Mizuki
could sense a hardness in his tone that hadn’t been there a moment ago, because
it must be horrible when people hate you so much they wouldn’t even answer a
genuine question. His lips turned into a smirk a second later and Mizuki grew
increasingly nervous, because it tended to be just before he left that he
attempted to molest or otherwise grope him. “I’m just glad it wasn’t your
dick.”
His eyes widened in alarm because Jesus that would be awful, voice emphatic as
he replied. “Yeah me too…”
“So can I see?”
“My dick or the stab wound?”
“Well either is good but I meant the wound, unless you want to change your mind
on that distraction?” He was joking again. Probably. Maybe. To be honest Mizuki
couldn’t tell and it was a little unnerving.
“I’m fine thanks, and I just bandaged it this morning, don’t really wanna take
it off,” to his surprise Sly didn’t object, just made an oddly understanding
expression and didn’t push it. “I’ll show you it when it’s healed, since you
asked so nicely.”
“Hope it didn’t damage your abs.” Another of those oddly worded but utterly
genuine displays of emotion, of course he wouldn’t just say he was glad he was
okay, or that he hoped it all healed with no problems, he twisted it until it
sounded almost like sarcasm.
He chuckled at that, breathy and weak but a laugh all the same, Sly’s humorous
concern somehow seeming a lot more genuine than most of the sympathy he’d
received so far. “I can assure you, they’re more than fine.”
“You don’t say,” he grinned suggestively, raising his eyebrows and taking an
almost appreciate inhale, as if he could somehow smell the muscle, though maybe
it was just nice for him to be somewhere that smelt good for once. “I do rather
enjoy them.”
Considering he’d seen them a total of twice, or probably only twice anyway, he
seemed to have grown quite attached to them, and the ego boost wasn’t
unwelcome, it was nice to feel good about something these days. “More than my
company?”
“Well they tend to come as a package so, I’d say it’s about equal,” Having his
company compared to his body, or just one part of it was unusual, but once
again it was the only way Sly would admit to liking his company at all, so he
supposed he’d accept it as that. He opened his mouth again, yellow eyes
flashing and Mizuki could almost guess word for word what he said next. “Now
speaking of packages-“
“Go home, Sly! Let me recover in peace,” he was about to let him leave, then he
suddenly remembered something, tone turning annoyed. “And give me back my
cigarettes.”
He scowled, but removed the stolen pack from his pocket and handed it over,
probably more annoyed at being caught than at having them taken, knowing he
could steal more as easily as he breathed, though with how much he smoked even
that might be difficult.
“It’s bad form to take a man’s last cigarettes,” he explained, removing three
from the almost full packet, putting them into his pocket and promptly handing
Sly the rest of the box, expecting the confused expression he got. “Tio’ll
bring me a new pack tonight if I ask.”
“Huh,” he nodded, though his expression had turned clouded again and Mizuki
really wished it didn’t have to, because he’d been almost pleasant until now,
accepting the food only because he was going to break in for it anyway. But the
cigarettes, he’d expected them to be taken away, not for him to give them to
him in spite of his attempt to steal them without him knowing. He just took one
out and lit it, distracting himself with that while his expression faltered for
a second, nostrils flaring and eyes crinkling in pain for a second nobody saw
and he barely even registered, “I’ll be back soon to see your abs.”
“Mm-hm, I’ll take good care of them til then,” he smiled, raising a hand in
return to Sly’s own as he turned and jogged down the stairs, oddly sad feeling
following him, as if somehow this visit had once again not turned out the way
he wanted.
===============================================================================
 
He didn’t go back to work for another three weeks, partially on the Doctor’s
orders, and partially because his depression returned almost as soon as it
seemed to have faded, although every day got a little easier. Tio had been
running Dry Juice and the regular bartenders had picked up extra shifts to make
up for their boss’ absence, tattoos and piercings were rescheduled and
customers offered discounts, though most of them didn’t take them. People knew
what had happened, so Mizuki’s absence was understandable, though most of them
probably assumed he was recovering rather than grieving or wallowing in self-
pity, which was more likely.
Walking down to his bar the next day at about two in the afternoon, having
called the team together to hopefully give them some of pep talk, or at least
reassure them that their leader was recovered and back in action again. He
wasn’t even remotely surprised when he saw a shock of blue lying over one of
the couches, few early team members leaving a wide berth around the place where
Sly seemingly was asleep, muttering to themselves darkly.
It was as exasperating as it was amusing, and he really had to hide his smile
because it was just such a Sly thing to do, it was almost sweet the way he
looked when asleep, curled into himself. He was painfully aware that this might
be the first decent sleep he’d had in weeks as he loudly awoke him, nudging him
with his toe, “Really? Fucking hell, wake up asshole.”
“Oh good it’s you again,” he muttered, sitting up and yawning as if he’d just
awoken from a pleasant nap in a comfortable bed instead of waking up somewhere
he’d broken into, as was an increasingly bad habit of his, and surrounded by at
least four men that hated him.
“What are you doing?”
“Well I was sleeping but some dickhead woke me up,” he glared, but Mizuki knew
he was faking too, hints of a smirk under his false anger, obvious in his tone,
because if he was really pissed off they’d fucking know about it. “You really
need to get better security, any freak could get in.”
“I think one did,” Tio muttered from behind him, and even Mizuki grinned at
that, because it was exactly what he would have said, and Sly knew that too,
yellow eyes drifting to focus on his right hand man and giving him a quick
scan.
“Clever, can you spell too?” He asked, and now his voice had that chilling tone
it rarely did these days, not when it was just them anyway, sarcasm so biting
and almost bitchy that the wave of resentment it received was almost justified.
A different voice responded, and Mizuki knew Tio wouldn’t have been the one to
retort. “Probably better than you can, though I guess you have to know how to
spell slut so you can get customers,” that was below the belt, though the
others didn’t seem to think so, too busy laughing and giving the speaker
approving looks to see Sly’s lip twitch just for a second.
“Alright guys, calm down, he’s not doing any harm. He can just fuck off and not
come back, right?” The last word was directed at Sly, who knew enough that this
was an act for his team to know he wasn’t really banning him from returning, he
was too damned kind for that, and Sly hated him a little for it. “Besides, the
rest of the team are coming soon, you don’t want to be here when they arrive,
do you? Wouldn’t end too well.”
“Bit late for that, Mizuki,” Tio nudged him and he turned to see the rest of
them filing into the bar, filling the larger room that led off this one and
surrounding the bar, some sending them curious, or even angry looks already.
Sly being in the bar as a paying customer was one thing, but being there at
random in the middle of the day was invasion of their turf, and they wouldn’t
take it kindly.
He sighed internally as he turned back to Sly, raising his voice so they could
hear him, he couldn’t be seen as letting him do whatever he wanted, not when he
was so detested. “Stay there and don’t be a dickhead,” he paused a second
later, tone changing just slightly. “Or I’ll let my guys kick you out, and you
won’t like that.”
“You’d be surprised, masochism’s a hobby of mine,” his chuckle at that was hard
to hide, coughing into his fist weakly as Tio’s eyes narrowed because they were
being too friendly despite their cold words and curses.
===============================================================================
 
His pep talk ended up not existing, he told the team to get comfortable, and
they all did, sinking onto the couches and chairs or perching on tables and
barstools, some even on the floor they were so numerous.
Only Tio remained standing, twitching nervously even as somebody pushed him
forwards into the limelight, looking at Mizuki almost anxiously, bartenders
stomach twisting instantly because something was wrong. “We um, held a meeting
and, we’ve decided to go after them.”
He was almost too busy watching the streak of blue in his peripheral get nearer
to properly register his words, but the moment he did he bristled with rage.
“You’ve what?” He asked, and his voice was venomous, pretending he could see
the eyes on Sly, now having perched himself on the bar and lit a cigarette, no
doubt still wondering why he was there and looking so damned comfortable.
“We can’t let them get away with it.”
“We’re just gunna rough them up a bit.”
Voices filled his head but he couldn’t register any of it, he didn’t
understand, somebody was already dead, why did they want more bloodshed? Hadn’t
they had enough already?
“Do you know where to find them?” All eyes turned as one to Sly, who didn’t
even react to the variation of distrusting, confused and overall disgusted
expressions that were focused upon him, just raising an eyebrow as nobody
answered.
“No, Sly, we don’t,” Mizuki sighed, and if anybody found it odd that they were
on first name basis, they didn’t say anything, just looking to their leader for
clarification and reassured at least a little by the harsh way his name came
out, more derogatory than familiar.
“Then you’re a bit fucked aren’t you?” He scoffed, and the group rippled with
anger, one stepping forwards and voices raising in anger and irritation and
overall displeasure, Sly faking a yawn just making them louder, shouting over
them. “Who were they?”
There was silence as they looked to Mizuki in confusion, because surely he’d
want Sly out of here as much as they would, but they couldn’t act without his
say, he’d made it clear before that Sly was to be left alone unless he deserved
it, and a dick though he was, there was no need to hurt him.
“Just answer him,” Mizuki’s voice was ice now, silencing them almost
impressively, despite his weary, exhausted figure he still commanded his
group’s utter respect, and Sly was almost surprised.
“We don’t know their name, but they had tattoos.” Tio spoke up, and of course
it was him, Mizuki flashing him a thankful, if not tired smile as he continued,
glad he could always rely on his right hand man, even in unfamiliar territory
like this, even if he had become the spokesperson for some revenge mob. “Um, a
scarab beetle with a ringed planet above it. Kinda green-blue?”
Sly was nodding, lighting another cigarette from Mizuki’s box and not
complaining when the bartender raised half out of his seat to snatch it out of
his hands with a displeased frown that was of course, mostly fake. “Yeah, I
know ‘em.”
All of a sudden the mood had changed, it was like Sly was an old friend, they
grinned and beamed and some looked almost blood thirsty, it turned Mizuki’s
stomach. The moment he had information to offer them, they suddenly turned 180
and were all smiles and encouragement and ‘I never thought he was all bad.’
They were so fake that for a second he felt genuine dislike for every single
one of them, even Tio had perked up when he had spoken, but then he supposed
his hate had never been as strong as the others when it came to Sly.
“So? Where can we find them?” Kiko, from behind Tio, a good head taller and
regarding him with reluctant politeness, like one might a disgusting old woman
selling valuable treasures.
Sly laughed then, a dirty sound that grated on Mizuki’s ears, but it was still
a damn sight realer than his entire team was being, like a pack of baying
hounds, he flicked ash off his cigarette absently, sneering. “Who said I was
gunna tell you?”
The anger rose in a wave and he was quick to quell it, raising his voice
authoritatively over them, “it doesn’t matter if he tells you or not, you’re
not going after them,” this wasn’t a request, it was a fucking order and they
would follow it like they always did, like it or not.
“Mizuki, they killed Y-“ This was Tio again, beseeching, but no, Mizuki would
not sit back and watch him succumb to this sick group mentality that revenge
was the only way to make things right when it would only make everything worse.
“I KNOW WHAT THEY DID!” He roared, fists slamming down into the bar behind him,
even Sly was taken aback, yellow eyes widening imperceptibly as he took in the
bartenders rage, watching as he swallowed it back a second later, looking
almost ashamed as he coughed and eased himself back into his seat. Fingers
white where they curled around the arms tight, he couldn’t stand them telling
him what had happened like he didn’t know, like he hadn’t been there. “I know
what they did.”
“So let us! We can’t let them get away with it!” Someone else now, near the
back and out of sight, voice deep and angry.
“Yes we can. Yasu’s… Dead,” and he had to stop because that was the first time
he’d said it aloud, admitted it to himself that he was really gone. “We can’t
do anything to change that and going after them will only make things worse.”
“You’re being irrational.”
“Blood for blood!” One voice rose, strong and powerful, and soon others were
joining him, murmuring it and nodding, all of them, faces he knew, people he
respected, would call friends, were calling for blood and he felt sick to his
stomach.
“Do what you want,” he wasn’t shouting, but his voice was so fierce that they
all quietened anyway, faces morphing into surprise, as if he’d suddenly changed
his mind. “But if any of you lay a finger on them you’re out.” He ignored the
snort from Sly who seemed to have stolen a beer somehow and was drinking it
quite calmly, cigarette in one hand and drink in the other, surrounded by
enemies, it was almost impressive.
“Mizuki, you… You can’t be serious.” Tio again, and the fact it was him was
somehow more horrible than if it had been anyone else, imagining Tio, kind
hearted, generous Tio killing somebody out of revenge made his stomach twinge
and it wasn’t just because of the wound there.
“I am deadly serious. That is not what we do, Yasu’s death was horrible but
killing somebody else will do nothing to fix it. You’re supposed to be fucking
mourning, not acting like we’re suddenly murderers too.” The group fell quiet
again, but this was a sombre sort of sound, feet shuffling guiltily, grief
confused for rage and revenge for mourning. He sighed heavily, at least they
seemed to have received the message, he just had to hope they valued Dry Juice
more than their own need for revenge. Rubbing a hand over the uninjured side oh
his face and waving his arm vaguely. “Now go get some fucking drinks or
something, the meetings over.”
“Well that was fun,” Sly remarked sarcastically, finishing his beer in one
impressive gulp and dropping his cigarette butt into it, using the pretence of
handing it cockily to the bartender to lean in close and whisper. “Scarabia,
above the old fish factory in the North District,” his voice was low so only
Mizuki could hear, and he frowned because why had he told him? He was the one
with no desire for revenge, so what would he do with that information?
“Bye dickheads!” He called out as he left, just laughing as they hurled abuse
his way and turning to swear at them childishly, dodging a piece of ice one of
them threw at him easily, spinning on his heel with one final smirk and leaving
Mizuki to contemplate his parting words to him.
Maybe he’d told him because he thought he’d change his mind, if so he didn’t
know him very well, though he supposed that was most of the problem, he didn’t.
===============================================================================
 
“I went looking for those guys,” Sly’s voice barely even surprised him, though
how he’d gotten into the bar was mildly alarming, his words more of a concern
to the bartender than his methods of breaking and entering right now. His
expression was stern as he turned to regard him, receiving an overly dramatic
eye roll in repayment, “I’m not on your team, remember? You can’t throw me
out.”
“I could throw you out of the bar.”
“Yeah but you won’t,” he didn’t even hesitate after he spoke, like it was
completely obvious that Mizuki would do any such thing and thinking otherwise
was ridiculous. “Anyway, they’ve disappeared.”
That pulled him up short, placing down the large bottle of rum he’d been trying
to fit to the wall bracket, frowning as he regarded Sly, who had perched on the
corner stool, already stealing one of his cigarettes. “What do you mean,
disappeared?”
“I mean they’ve just gone, nobody’s seen them in like a week and their
territory is abandoned.” He shrugged, sure it was weird, but this whole island
was, so he wasn’t too bothered by their seeming non-existence. “Like they just
disappeared into thin air, one woman said.”
“She answered you?” Mizuki’s voice was disbelieving and Sly frowned, because he
knew his reputation proceeded him, but some people were at least civil when he
asked them direct questions. Not many, but there were a couple who didn’t need
plying with sex or drugs first.
“Well I’m pretty sure she was blind so she didn’t know who I was,” he shrugged,
using Mizuki’s distraction as he mounted the bottle to lean bodily over the
bar, open the mini-fridge and help himself to a beer, pulling the cap off with
his teeth.
“You asked a blind woman if she had seen a group of people?” Mizuki was almost
amazed at Sly’s stupidity, because had he not seen the fundamental flaw in that
logic?
“No, how dumb do you think I am?” He sounded offended, but just grinned at
Mizuki’s blank expression, which answered Sly’s question for him. “I asked if
she’d heard anything. She said people had been talking about it a lot, how
they’d just vanished.”
“Hm, at least my guys can’t beat them up now I guess…” He murmured, but
something in him still felt unsettled, not sure what it was, but something
about the story unnerved him, because people didn’t just vanish, even on
Midorijima. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” he glowered, instantly on guard again, because the
suggestion he’d do something for anything but his own gain was too disgusting
to even entertain.
“Then why’d you do it?”
“Curiosity, nosiness, call it what you will.”
It wasn’t until he was gone, offering no explanation or goodbye, that Mizuki
realized those were his own words he’d echoed back at him.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Is there any particular reason you’ve been following me literally all day?” He
asked, finally turning round to face a remarkably calm looking boy, considering
the fact he’d been caught essentially stalking him, he seemed alright with it.
“Nah,” he shook his head and Mizuki could finally get a look at him now he
wasn't attempting to hide, he could only be about eight or nine, though he
could never tell with kids these days, they always seemed to look and act
older. “M’just bored.”
“Then why don’t you find something to do?” He asked exasperatedly, because he’d
much rather this child had an actual reason for tracking him, sinister or not,
but he seemed genuine enough and he supposed ‘follow the adult’ would make a
fun game for a while.
“Nuthin’ to do, this islands shit,”
Swearing never bothered the bartender, but coming out of this small child’s
mouth so casually, something about it just hit him wrong and he frowned,
because shouldn’t he be in school? His own less than ideal childhood had made
him rather soft hearted when it came to the various brats that seemed to roam
the streets at will, and he was sure sometimes they knew this and preyed on him
deliberately.
“Nothing, huh? Nobody wants somebody to help out for a few yen?”
“Nah,” he wiped his nose on his sleeve, snot smearing up the already filthy
material and nose still running wetly, cheek streaked with dirt that might have
been there for days and mop of curly black hair sodden and lank with grease.
“They say I’m smelly, won’t let me help.”
He wondered briefly whether to redirect this child to somebody else, maybe
Koujaku, the head of Beni Shigure a well-regarded Rib team and an ally of Dry
Juice, as a hairdresser he might be in need of a helper to sweep hair or the
like, and he would no doubt take one look at this child’s greasy, tangled mop
and promptly wash and cut it to perfection. If he said Mizuki sent him he was
sure to do it, they had to stick together and he’d understand why he had done
it, he had a soft spot for the more elderly members of society, and Mizuki
tried to help the younger ones wherever he could. But then again it would be a
burden to put on him, and he had to admit if Koujaku did the same to him, while
he’d understand, he certainly wouldn’t appreciate it. He was just about to
attempt to fob him off with money, ¥2000 should keep him in food for a few
days, maybe the whole week if he was careful and didn’t just buy crap, which
was unlikely at his age, and he could definitely afford to spend it, when the
child froze up, staring at something, or someone, behind him.
“Making friends with the local urchins, hm, Mizuki? What a true pillar of the
community you are.”
“Sly,” he spoke smoothly, not even needing to turn around to recognise that
smooth voice and it’s teasing tone, barely blinking even when an arm draped
itself around his neck, just glad it wasn’t somewhere more…. Intimate.
“This one’s mine, beat it kid,” how exactly Mizuki was Sly’s, he wasn’t
entirely sure he’d claim to know, but the moment he’d spoken the child had
clammed up nervously, street kid or not, Sly Blue still had his reputation.
“S-sorry, I were just messin’ around,” he apologised, scuffing his hole-filled
trainer against the dirty ground and looking mildly afraid, as if he had just
been caught by a parent, but then Mizuki supposed maybe the kids saw Sly as
that, them but grown up. It made him frown to think of this boy, with cute
freckled cheeks under the dirt and not quite emaciated yet like Sly was,
growing up to be the same cold, closed off person.
“Mm-hm sure, here,” he spoke like he couldn’t care less, dismissively, but he
released Mizuki’s neck and a second later a coin flipped past his face, child
catching it with almost a gleeful expression. “Go buy candy or some shit.”
“Didn’t know you were so generous,” he remarked as the child scampered off,
grin wide, using the normal jokey tone of their conversations to speak even as
he was genuinely surprised, realising as he did it that he was picking up on
Sly’s habits to hide true emotion and feeling distinctly odd about it.
“Oh come on, even I can spare a measly ¥500 so a brat doesn’t starve to death,”
he spoke harshly as ever, but both his expression and voice had softened upon
seeing the child and Mizuki couldn’t help but wonder if he saw something of
himself in him. If any of his team had just seen that display they’d be amazed
he had some kindness in him, they genuinely did seem to think he was pure evil,
which was possible for very few people in general, let alone a mere teenager.
“I suppose I’m Prince Charming now, coming to save you from the dirty street
trash.”
He knew he was joking, wasn’t he always? But hearing a child described as that,
even in jest made something in his twist unpleasantly, akin to anger but not as
strong, maybe just a sense of unfairness.
“Oh come on, what was he going to do, knife me? Again,” he realised when he
spoke that he’d made it sound like he’d been stabbed by a small child before,
frowning at how embarrassing that would be and hoping Sly wouldn’t pick up on
it.
But of course he did, “you got stabbed by an eight year old? Hardcore.” He
nodded in mock amazement despite being fully aware he was in fact stabbed by
somebody at least ten years older, but his face hardened a second later,
another of those flashes of unidentifiable emotion crossing his face and
quickly dying. “But he’s one of the good ones, some of them probably would stab
you, specially if you were dumb enough to offer them money, and I saw you
reaching for your pocket.”
“They’d genuinely stab me?” His voice was disbelieving, because surely they
wouldn’t do that just for whatever money he’d be carrying, which wasn’t usually
much, and his Coil was password protected so it would be useless to them.
“Oh yeah, happens a lot, not fatal obviously. Think about it, would you want
people knowing you got stabbed by some kid?” He spoke matter-of-factly, and it
was the bored way he spoke, as if he was used to it that upset Mizuki more than
what he was actually saying, because how on earth could you get used to that?
He had a point, he’d probably make up some story about getting into a fight, or
if it wasn’t bad enough, just pretend he wasn’t injured unless it became
obvious some other way. He immediately began to wonder about all the stabbings
he heard about, and there were quite a lot, absently questioning how many of
those had been inflicted by children desperate for money on the very people who
wanted to help them. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you, literally in
this case since their money would most likely go on food first and foremost,
though they could probably beg for food successfully whereas someone Sly’s age
didn’t evoke the same sympathy so would most likely get nothing.
“It must be hard though, being that young and being homeless,” he knew the only
orphanage on the Island had shut down a few years after he had left, leaving
many children with no option but to be dumped by themselves with nothing but
the clothes on their backs. Some people had taken them in, but not enough
people were willing to and less than a quarter of the residents had homes by
the time they closed down.
Sly scoffed harshly and Mizuki frowned, because that was a pretty derogatory
thing to do even if you were Sly Blue. “Least they can get money just for being
young, gets harder the older you get, who wants to give a shitty teenager money
when there’s a cute kid who needs it too?” He sounded bitter, and he had every
right to be, his life was really shit by all accounts, and now he even lost out
on money he needed to children who probably didn’t appreciate its value yet.
“Least they don’t have to suck dick for money.”
“Or fuck people,” Mizuki remarked, because he’d heard that rumour but he didn’t
know if there was truth behind it, he knew the dick sucking one was, but as for
full sex it was always implied he did it, but nobody knew anybody who had...
Indulged, in those services.
His yellow eyes narrowed for a second, maybe trying to work out if Mizuki was
judging him, taking a box of cigarettes out of his pocket that Mizuki
recognised as his own, strangely missing from his jacket where they’d been a
minute ago, and having the audacity to offer him one.
“Yes I’d love one of my own cigarettes, thanks,” he remarked sarcastically,
sounding more annoyed than he was, because he wouldn’t even take them back and
they both knew it by now, he’d just go to the shop on his way home and pick
some up.
“You’re welcome,” his smile was falsely sugary sweet and Mizuki didn’t like it,
though he chuckled as he pretended to bat his eyelashes like the girls that
clung to Koujaku wherever he went. “But I don’t do that very often.”
Mizuki blinked, because he’d forgotten what they were talking about for a
second, watching smoke slide over Sly’s features and soften them for a moment,
“what?”
“Fuck people,” he shrugged, exhaling smoke as if they were chatting about the
weather instead of the fact he had to have sex with strangers to buy food.
“Most people don’t trust me, and they don’t really want to be ‘that guy who
fucked Sly Blue’, so I only do that like… once a month maybe?”
“Would you want to do it more?” Mizuki asked disbelievingly, because he’d
sounded almost upset.
“Eh, I get more money for it, and it means I get some fun too, sometimes.” He
paused for a second and Mizuki thought to the old finger marks that had been on
his neck months ago, way before Christmas. “I could have fun with you if you
weren’t such a prude.”
He choked on cigarette smoke, because a prude was something he had never been
called before and that he quite honestly objected to, “did you just call me a
fucking prude?”
“Well you won’t pay me for a fuck either, or for anything, therefore you are a
prude.” His logic made no sense, and Mizuki had the feeling he knew that, but
whether he cared or was just looking to get a reaction he didn’t really know.
He tried to use reason to stop this conversation, because there was literally
no way Sly could talk him into fucking him, paid or otherwise, if he needed
money he’d rather just give him it rather than make him demean himself. “You
already offer to do that, why would I pay for something I could get for free?”
“Hm,” he held a finger to his chin, tilting his head as if actually thinking,
tapping the smooth skin absently before raising the digit as if in sudden
realisation. “So you feel less guilty about using poor, innocent little Sly
Blue?” His voice was mocking, forcing his face into a playful pout and putting
on a sweet voice that didn’t suit him one bit, not lasting long as Mizuki
laughed and prompted him to grin.
“Oh yeah, because paying would make me feel so much better. I always say it’s
better to break two laws than one,” he nodded firmly, as if stoically standing
behind his words, heavily laced with sarcasm they were, trying not to think of
the truth behind them. Because really, accepting a sexual favour off Sly would
technically be paedophilic and therefore statutory rape, without him paying and
bringing prostitution into it too. If he had to choose, and he didn’t even want
to imagine why he’d ever have to, he’d rather Sly just do it because he wanted
to, for whatever reason, rather than because he needed money. But his issue was
that while Sly might actually want to do it, his reasons for it weren’t purely
ethical, even if he did have some attraction to him, which he seemed to, at
least physically if not intellectually too, he was doing it as a way to pay him
back and that wasn’t alright.
Mizuki wasn’t old fashioned, he knew sex was less taboo these days and he’d had
a couple of one night stands himself, they were awkward and not actually that
good, but he knew sex wasn’t necessarily between two people who loved each
other. Using it as payment was still wrong though, no matter how Sly tried to
reason it, not to mention he was worried if he caved once he’d end up doing it
again and then they’d end up as some kind of screwed up fuck buddies, and he
knew from experience that never ended well for either party. One person ended
up heart broken and the other was guilty and angry that they’d developed
feelings in the first place because the whole point of fuck buddies was to not
have any emotions there. Luckily for him, Tio had been such a good friend
anyway he’d managed to keep their friendship intact even after admitting he
felt more than just friendship, or lust, for Mizuki.
He and Sly were nowhere near that close, but he still didn’t want to risk the
odd friendship they seemed to be developing over something as unimportant (in
the grand scheme of things) as sex, especially when Sly had nobody else.
“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” and of course, he’d have a way to
rationalise that too, Mizuki just frowning as he continued to smoke his
cigarette, glad this alleyway was quiet enough that nobody had come across him
conversing politely with Sly Blue of all people. “Anyway, you never showed me
your stab wound, I wanna see it.”
“Right now? In the middle of the street?” To tell the truth it wouldn’t be
difficult to show Sly, he wouldn’t even have to get undressed, just yank his t-
shirt and hoodie up and show him the shiny red scar where the knife had stabbed
into him, let him see the tiny red holes where stitches had been placed then
removed. But he had the unnerving feeling that he didn’t want to see as much as
he might to feel, and he couldn’t deal with Sly trying to molest him again,
especially when he seemed to use any method possible to do so. It was almost
exhausting trying to work out when he’d next strike, without offering him more
opportunities to do exactly that.
“Did it go all the way though?”
“It was five inches, how thick do you think I am?” The minute he spoke he
realised his mistake, both parts of that sentence, could and would be twisted
into sexual innuendo by Sly ‘mind of a twelve year old’ Blue.
“Hm, a good mouthful at least, I’d know if you’d just let me-“
“Nope,” he was so used to this now his response came immediately, in the next
breath he took, shaking his head insistently and lips pursing in displeasure.
“Told you once, I’ll tell you again, you’re not going anywhere near my penis.
Or the rest of me. And I’m not going near you either,” he tacked the last bit
on as he suddenly remembered what he’d said in return last time, the bartender
would neither let Sly touch him nor touch the other in any manner other than
friendly, and he was reluctant to even do that, knowing the other would either
not like it, or try and take advantage again.
“Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, knowing that even despite the bartender’s
insistence that he wouldn’t give up any time soon, crossing his arms moodily as
he threw his cigarette away. “Are you going to show me or what?”
“I’m not undressing in the middle of the street, even for you,” this was more
in reference to Sly’s stubbornness than any desire to undress in front of him,
though when Sly had broken in to find him shirtless he had been less than
bothered about covering up. He did regret that a little now, because before Sly
had actually seen him in any state of undress his advances had been less…
Enthusiastic, now their genuine and almost lecherous presentation just unnerved
him.
“Then we’ll go to your place,” he spoke as if it was obvious, but Mizuki really
didn’t think it was, opening his mouth to object as Sly spun on his heel,
seemingly headed to his bar and ignoring his yells to stop.
“Oi! Sly, don’t just- For fucks sakes you can’t just- Sly!” His voice grew
almost shrill on the last word, tinged with both irritation and, to his horror
acceptance, knowing no amount of telling him otherwise would make him change
his ways.
“Hurry up or I’ll break in,” he called back, ignoring the sound of his name,
eventually ceasing as Mizuki realised that if anybody heard him yelling after
him, they’d either assume there was trouble and he’d get Sly’s ass kicked, or
they’d wonder something about their relationship and questions would be asked.
He guessed his only option was to beat him there so maybe he wouldn’t have
stolen his entire fridge by the time he opened the no doubt illegally opened
door, laughing self pityingly before breaking into a jog. It was a good excuse
to get some cardio, he supposed, murmuring about silver linings as he wished he
wasn’t wearing such a thick hoodie, sweating already and the blue head
completely out of sight now.
===============================================================================
 
“How, the fuck, did you beat me here?” Mizuki asked, well, panted more like,
having jogged or run almost the whole way back to his apartment only to find
the door unlocked and his unwanted pest lounging on the sofa as if he was right
at home. He knew Sly was fast, but he wasn’t even out of breath and already had
a bottle of vodka, one of cola and two glasses filled with ice neatly on the
table, not to mention he was halfway through a cigarette and there was a fresh
butt in the ashtray.
“Rooftops,” he answered calmly enough, tapping ash into the tray in a way so
graceful Mizuki was taken aback for a moment, not quite registering his words
and not appreciating the amused eyebrow that regarded his sweating form. He
really needed to start working out again, he’d gotten lazy since his injury and
it was obvious now as his lungs burned from a run not even half the distance he
used to do every morning.
Mizuki blinked, looking up from where he stood, bent double and heaving to
catch his breath because holy shit he hadn’t run like that in a while,
treadmill pretty much untouched in favour of takeaways and bad TV show and
overwhelming misery. Frowning because of course he’d answer with something not
only cryptic but also completely bemusing, because what in the hell could he
even mean by rooftops? That was not a method of transport, it wasn’t even a
fucking adjective, it was as if he’d chosen a random word and said it just to
fuck with him, which seemed very possible knowing him as well as he did.
“Rooftops…?”
“Mm, they’re so close together you can jump straight over,” he explained, and
suddenly Mizuki had a rather alarming image of Sly racing just ahead of him,
several metres above the ground and flinging himself over great spaces of
emptiness to reach the next building, laughing as he paused, looking down to
see his jogging form for a second before he flung himself over the abyss again.
“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” he remarked blankly, because once again Sly
had said something so utterly surprising he didn’t know how to deal with it,
just shaking his head and shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t really upset
when he spoke, more mildly irritated, and slightly amused at how easily Sly had
fitted into his life, it was bizarre actually. “You know, just because we’re
friends doesn’t mean you can just break in and steal my shit.”
“I don’t have friends,” he remarked bluntly, opening the vodka and pouring
generous measures, not fazed by Mizuki’s eyebrows raising as he continued to
pour long after he ever would. “You want coke?”
“Sure,” he shrugged, regarding the bottle of Grey Goose that sat atop the
table, thinking he’d take any cold drink right now, even if it was laced with
stupidly expensive vodka stolen from his own fucking bar. Rather
unsurprisingly, Sly was already pouring it before he spoke, screwing the lid
back on and taking a drink from his own, sucking in air through his teeth but
nodding as if to say it was good that it burnt. “But you do realise it’s the
middle of the day right?”
“What? Too scared to be drunk at work?” Sly was taunting him, he knew that,
watching with those yellow eyes that saw all, saw too much, as he pulled off
his hoodie and boots, black, form fitting t-shirt damp with perspiration.
Mizuki raised an eyebrow at him, because he knew the taunt was a competition,
to see who would break first, whether he would give in and drink, and Sly had
the upper hand, because he was not going to be beaten by a sixteen year old.
Just shrugging and yanking at the bottom of his t-shirt self-consciously, aware
of the eyes on the tiny strip of tan skin he’d inadvertently revealed,
determined to not give him any more excuses to ogle him. “I’m not working
tonight.”
“So what’s the issue?” He had an annoyingly valid point and he wasn’t sure he
could argue against it, Mizuki had nothing to do now he’d done a quick round of
Dry Juice’s turf, he had plenty of food in, and entertainment for the night,
apparently now in the form of Sly’s company, which he supposed was better than
watching Netflix alone. There was really nothing to stop him drinking now, he’d
have plenty of time to sleep it off before he worked tomorrow afternoon, and
unless something happened with his team, he was free to do whatever he wanted.
“No issue,” he remarked almost coldly, shooting Sly a look he hoped said he
understood the game he was playing and that he had no plan of losing to him.
“Unless you’re trying to get me drunk?”
His raised eyebrow and dirty smirk didn’t bother the other one jot, just trying
to hide his unsurprised smile behind a scoff as he took his first drink and
almost choked because fuck that was strong, even more so than he’d expected,
coughing and wincing as he put it back down. Sly however, answered calmly,
taking a much larger mouthful than the bartender had and not even cringing,
almost cocky as he swallowed then spoke, voice lowered and almost a purr,
horribly seductive even to the bartenders closed off ears, “what if I am?”
“Then I’ll have to hope I can hold my drink,” Sly’s plan was hardly original,
getting him drunk in the hope of lowering his morals so he could finally get
what he wanted, the bartender. But Mizuki had been drinking a long time, and
had built up quite a considerable tolerance, so he doubted that he’d be that
drunk even if they drank the entire bottle between them, especially not if they
were mixing it.
He absently thought back to when he’d last eaten, knowing an empty stomach
would only make it go to his head faster with less than desirable effects, in
his opinion anyway, remembering the cereal bar he’d grabbed that morning, then
realising he’d never eaten it. Images of him getting so drunk he either passed
out or was sick not exactly filling him with joy at the idea, wondering if Sly
would laugh or actually try and molest his unconscious body, cringing at the
idea of either.
“You hungry?” He asked, as he would any guest who came over, thinking it was
rude to eat without at least asking his visitor if they wanted something, but
no doubt Sly take it badly, assuming it was more charity, as if he didn’t come
here to steal his food already.
He shook his head, drinking another mouthful, glass already nearly empty and
ice clinking, it was a harsh contrast to Mizuki’s, which had barely been
touched, foul taste and Sly’s evident plans not exactly encouraging him to
drink it down. “Nah,” he didn’t actually look upset by his offer though, just
placing his feet on the coffee table and scowling when Mizuki immediately
shoved them back off, because he wasn’t having trainers that dirty, or indeed
any trainers, on his table. “Stole some Takoyaki earlier.”
“Of course you did,” he rolled his eyes, totally unsurprised by his honesty
about his illegal activities and less than morally acceptable behaviour,
jabbing a thumb in the direction of the kitchen and eyeing Sly’s now empty
glass with only mild concern. “I’m gunna grab some ramen or something.”
“Trying to stay sober?” This was a direct accusation and Mizuki just rolled his
eyes as he stood up, downing his drink pointedly and immediately regretting it
as it hit his stomach hard, cringing audibly and fighting the urge to throw up,
aiming a rather watery eyed stare at him.
“No, I’m hungry,” he objected sternly, because did there have to be a second
reason behind everything he did? He was honestly just hungry, stomach beginning
to grumble now it had something in it, and something so damn painful too, those
noodles were looking increasingly tempting, and he didn’t wait for Sly to
respond before he disappeared into the kitchen. Sly for once left him mostly
unbothered as he slurped them down, calmly refilling their glasses whenever
they emptied, which was worryingly often, and mocking him as noodle juice ran
down his chin.
===============================================================================
 
“We might need another bottle,” Sly remarked calmly as he poured Mizuki a fresh
drink, shaking the bottle and showing that there was only one drink’s worth
left, with his measurements anyway.
“At least steal the cheap stuff, you’ll put me out of business,” that wasn’t
exactly going to happen any time soon, but he had a set way he ordered alcohol
for the bar, and if a bottle went missing he might end up running low. Having a
bustling bar and running out of something as essential as vodka could ruin an
entire night, he’d lose customers and his excellent reputation would drop,
something he couldn’t have happen.
“¥3000 is a bargain for vodka this good,” his voice was cold as he pushed
Mizuki’s drink across the table towards him, as if insisting he drink it, like
a hustler in a game of poker pushing chips forwards.
“It’s 7000,” he replied, but he knew what was happening even as he picked up
the glass condensation wetting his fingers because Sly had even gotten more ice
when it melted settling down on the sofa beside him, tense with expectation.
“Then why did you charge me three?” His fingers were hard on the bottle as he
poured a new glass, topping up Mizuki’s a second later as he promptly downed
it, something in the air making his resolve to stay sober and in control
fading. Sly was infuriating him, because he couldn’t understand him, couldn’t
get his head around him and he wanted to more than anything, he felt somehow
like he was a puzzle waiting to be unlocked, but he was sick of fixing one
thing and it making another worse. Plus there were pieces missing, important
pieces that he felt he couldn’t complete it without, several were cracked and
he was sure he damaged more with each one he messily glued together.
“You didn’t say anything, figured you didn’t mind,” his voice was cold too,
shut off, because if Sly didn’t show anything then neither would he, why should
he? Their relationship, because they weren’t friends if Sly was to be believed,
was hardly going to go anywhere if he hid everything and for once the bartender
was tired of being the responsible adult here. He had the feeling he’d end up
regretting this as he sipped his next drink, vodka burning on the way down
because it was at least a triple measure.
“I don’t like charity,” his gaze was cold, yellow eyes narrowed as he watched
Mizuki swallow, tracking the movement of his Adam’s apple as he drank down the
cold liquid, rolling his eyes and making his face harden more, jaw stiffening
up.
“It wasn’t charity.”
“Then what was it, what is all of this? Pity? Guilt? You just being kind
hearted? Because I don’t buy any of it.” His drink was empty again, glass
slammed onto the table and that piercing glare directed at him, stabbing into
him sharply. “What do you fucking want?”
“I don’t want anything! Why do I have to fucking want something?”
“Because that’s what people do! Don’t pretend you’re any different, you could
have told me to fuck off the first time you met me but you didn’t!”
“You were the one who came back! You wormed your way into my life not the other
way around! You broke in and stole my food and crashed on my couch and got in
the way whenever you could. I’m sorry if it upsets you that I might actually
not think you’re scum but some people are actually decent if you try with
them!”
“People aren’t nice!” He was growling now, body tense and coiled with anger
where he rose up to glare at the bartender, drink forgotten about now and
trying to hide his growing confusion because Mizuki didn’t think he was scum
and he had never heard that before.
“Why did you give that kid money? Hm?” He’d changed the subject, still bubbling
with hidden anger but suddenly turning this on him, making this Sly’s issue
when it was Mizuki who truly had the problem.
“Why does it matter?” He scowled, because this wasn’t about him, he was acting
like himself, like he really was inside, it was this bartender who was going
against everything Sly knew about people.
“Just answer the question,” his voice was firm, and Sly knew there was no way
to escape from his, almost certain already of where Sly was going with this and
not looking forward to when he did.
“So he didn’t fucking starve to death, why were you going to?”
“For the same reason, people are nice, Sly. You did a nice thing, how can you
say people are horrible when they’ve proved they’re not?”
“One person! One person on this entire piece of shit island has been even
remotely nice to me! But like you said, I didn’t give you a choice!” Mizuki was
right, he had initially expected to be woken from his drunken sleep by the
bartender whose house he’d broken into with a kick to the stomach and be
suitably beaten afterwards. But what had he received? Breakfast, polite
conversation and an ongoing relationship with this weird guy who should by all
accounts hate him, he was a Ribster, and they probably hated him more than most
people. “It was pity, that’s why I gave that runt money. Pity! I am notnice.”
“Not because he reminded you of yourself? Because you know what it’s like to
grow up like that?”
“You know fucking nothing about me!”
“I know enough! You don’t want that kid to go through what you did!”
“I didn’t grow up on the fucking streets, so stop assuming things and leave me
the fuck alone!”
Mizuki stopped, because he hadn’t? He was too young to have been in the
orphanage with him and Mizuki knew he’d recognise him if he had been, that blue
hair wasn’t exactly common, so where had he begun his life? Where had he lived
until now? How had he ended up like this, on the streets and selling himself
for money, with this horrible reputation and icy personality?
“You know nothing,” he hissed, standing from the sofa and heading to the door,
left unlocked, opening it so hard it slammed against the wall and sent a tremor
through the whole apartment. But even that wasn’t as strong as the fire in his
eyes, the rage and hate and the pain he constantly hid, visible in his shaking
lip and the flare of his nostrils as he spoke, voice wavering and bitter. “You
are just like everyone else, don’t pretend any different.”
The door slammed ominously, finally as Mizuki just sat there, stunned into
silence and expression only hardening, because shit, he’d really fucked things
now and he had a feeling the expression ‘when one door shuts, a window opens’,
couldn’t be applied to Sly.
Chapter End Notes
     Sly being amazing at parkour/freerunning is canon don't question me
     on this
     Forgot to put in Scarabia's tag art- http://i62.photobucket.com/
     albums/h93/n7myw/Tattoos/scarab3.jpg
***** Chapter 7 *****
“Sly?!” His polite answering the door expression faltered, falling into a
combination of horror and alarm because oh shit what the fuck had happened to
him? “You’re covered in blood oh fuck… What happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered casually enough, managing a weak
glare and trying to pretend like he wasn’t swaying lightly on his feet,
blinking hard and taking fluttering breaths that were noisy and almost rasping.
“Nothing to-?!” He began, utterly horrified because how could he be so neutral
about this when his entire torso and stomach was bathed in the sticky,
congealing liquid. But then his eyes narrowed and he let out a reluctant sigh
because it was just like Sly to fuck with him like this, frowning as he spoke,
“let me guess, it’s somebody else’s blood?”
He smirked at that, trying to chuckle but only managing a worryingly damp
cough, body shaking under the force of it and grimacing as he sucked in a noisy
hiss of breath, hand over his stomach gripping harder into his soaked shirt.
“Not this time.”
“Then it’s plenty to worry about!” he exclaimed because Sly’s stubborn refusal
to accept help wouldn’t put him off this time, surprised when he accepted the
hand round his arm and let the bartender drag him into his apartment. “Sit down
and take your shirt off.”
He was expecting the stupid comment that came, not even responding as he headed
to the bathroom to find clean towels and the first aid kit, just scowling at
his complete inability to understand that his health, his life, was important.
“Finally, and here I thought you’d never ask.”
“Funny,” he replied blankly as he returned, footsteps faltering as he took in
the deep gash across his stomach, a gentle diagonal leading down from just
under his bellybutton all the way across to his hipbone, still leaking thick
droplets of blood. “Tell me what happened, now.”
His tone was demanding, and Sly knew he wouldn’t accept any more of his clever
ways to avoid the situation, biting his lip and rolling his eyes as if this was
really a big fuss over nothing, which he honestly thought it was. “Some asshole
started a fight with me, got a knife, I didn’t duck in time.”
His eyes narrowed, because everybody knew Sly’s reputation as an excellent,
almost undefeatable fighter, so either he was against a group, they were a lot
bigger than him, or something else had hindered his ability to anticipate and
evade the attack.
“How long ago?” He asked, pressing a towel gently to the skin and trying to
ignore his sharp hitch of breath, sucking air noisily through his nose as pain
shot up his spine because Mizuki had to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He
needed to see the extent of the injury, to know how deep the apparent knife had
gone, to see if it needed stitches or whether he could even deal with it
himself, knowing the hospital wouldn’t exactly welcome him with open arms.
“I dunno,” he shrugged, but the bartender just pressed down harder and he
hissed because he could have sworn he was doing it on purpose, olive eyes not
giving anything away as he stared at him unflinchingly, waiting impatiently for
him to just fucking answer. “Like an hour? I didn’t fucking time it.”
“And you did what? Wandered the streets like this?” He was incredulous, but he
knew that was exactly what he’d do, show off the growing blood stain on his
shirt and flaunt it like a soldier might a medal of honor, loving the glares
and judgmental stares he’d no doubt receive.
“Yeah, what else was I meant to do?” He shook his head as he spoke, eyebrows
furrowed and expression disbelieving, as if Mizuki was the one being stupid
here, scoffing loudly as he carefully removed the towel to survey the damage.
It wasn’t deep enough to hit any organs, but he could see white fat where the
blood had yet to bubble up again, edges thick with solidified blood and brown
surrounding the entire thing, congealed and crusty. He sighed because it was
nasty, the edges were clean but it was a vicious cut, deep in an area with lots
of things that could be seriously dangerous, even deadly if they’d gotten
caught by the blade. It needed stitches, which he knew he was capable of,
having done them before on his guys after fights, but usually they were just
minor injuries, not huge gaping wounds like this, a good three centimeters wide
if not more and at least a centimeter deep. It was verging on the level that he
was unable to deal with, but this was Sly, so he could hardly take him to a
doctor or even ring his team member that was dating a nurse, it would open up
too many questions he didn’t want to, couldn’t, answer.
“You need stitches,” his voice was cold as he moved away, dropping the now
permanently stained white towel onto the floor and rooting through the green
box to find what he needed, thick gauze pads and a bottle of yet unopened
sterile saline solution, turning back onto to find Sly trailing his fingers
along the wound. His touch wasn’t hard enough to do much more than sting, but
it was the fact his hands were dirty that bothered Mizuki the most, not to
mention that he shouldn’t be doing anything that might make the bleeding start
again. He yanked his hand away easily, trying to ease the queasy roll of his
stomach as Sly’s red fingers glistened under the lights, taking a deep breath
because he suddenly felt ill. “Stop that! Do you want it to get infected?”
He took a second to ponder this, watching silently as Mizuki soaked a gauze pad
with the clear liquid and set about cleaning the crusted, brownish substance
off his stomach and hip, wiping firmly but carefully. He paused every time his
stomach contracted with pain or he made even the smallest noise, taking utter
care when he approached the very edges of the injury, slowing down his swipes
and brows furrowed in utter concentration.
“I don’t really care,” he responded, focused completely on the bartenders face,
taking in the heavy set of his brow as he leaned in close to carefully, almost
tenderly clean away the streaks of blood, hands warm on his stomach.
“Yeah well, I do,” he muttered, too busy soaking another pad to notice the fact
that his breath hitched again even though he was nowhere near, words searing
into him so much more forcefully than the knife had, rendering him confused and
filling him with the usual urge to bolt.
By the time he was cleaning the actual wound, wiping away the new beads of
crimson that bubbled to the surface and apologizing frequently as his breathing
grew heavy and pained, actually wincing once, he was beginning to wonder why he
even came. What had he expected to achieve in coming here? He knew exactly what
would happen, knew the bartender would freak out and try to patch him up,
though he had to admit that he’d been hoping the skin contact might lead onto
something more exciting, but now he knew that wouldn’t happen. The fingers on
his flat stomach made him want to cringe away, moving timidly across the skin
as he tried to wipe away a stubborn patch of hardened blood in the corner,
barely feeling the pain as those rough fingertips moved to grip his uninjured
hip instead.
“Stop squirming or it’ll hurt more,” his words came as a surprise, previously
zoned out yellow eyes snapping back to attention and instantly cursing himself
for his inattention because apparently his unconscious desire to get away
hadn’t remained as hypothetical as he thought. He just glared and turned away,
focusing on the door he’d knocked on minutes ago, beginning to wish he hadn’t
bothered, he could treat himself in his warehouse easily enough, his stolen
medical kit still had enough supplies for this, not as nice as the bartenders,
but he could have made do. He always had before, but now Mizuki had come along
and ruined everything and he felt so confused he didn’t even know what to do
when he turned back down to him and saw him regarding him with his nose creased
in concern.
“Sly? You okay?”
“Obviously, why wouldn’t I be?” Of course he snapped, it was automatic by now,
and he almost missed the expression of worry the moment it faded into one of
annoyance, because he just couldn’t explain the way it made him feel inside
when he was so obviously concerned about him.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, thought you might be lightheaded,” his words were
reluctant, like he didn’t even want to show any sympathy for him but that he
couldn’t help it, he obviously resented his kindness being greeted with such
disdain.
“Fine, thanks,” his tone was clipped, to the point and sharp even though the
words were a lie because when the bartenders hand rested on his knee it felt
red hot and his face swum in his vision, able to register nothing but warm
olive. He was saying something, but he couldn’t quite hear, just nodding
absently and waving a hand as if to say that he really didn’t give a shit. So
he wasn’t entirely prepared when the hands on him grew firmer, flitting across
his skin with hard touches and a glint of silver flashing through his
peripheral in the second before his vision grew black and he realized with
amusement that he was going to fucking pass out.
 
===============================================================================
 
The first he knew Sly was awake was when he cleared his throat, footsteps into
the room utterly silent because he was apparently a literal fucking ninja,
nearly spilling red hot coffee all down his front but luckily only staining the
carpet instead.
“How long have I been out?” He worded it like it was important, and it fucking
was, because he’d let himself do something as weak as fucking faint like some
girl, waking up in a comfortable bed with sick dread in his stomach because
that wasn’t supposed to happen. In fact none of this factored into any of his
plans, which mainly consisted of getting high, drunk and fucked as often as
possible with as little human emotion as possible, but Mizuki was fucking
everything up.
“Two days nearly,” he replied, recovering from his shock rather smoothly, half
empty mug lowered to the table and tea towel already covering the wet patch
soaking into his carpet, offering him a weak smile as he straightened back up.
“I was almost getting worried.”
“No need, I’m fine,” and again his voice was harsher than he meant, shoving his
worry away once again as if he didn’t secretly enjoy the warm feeling it left
in his fingertips as his eyes creased up minutely at the corners, regarding him
carefully.
“If you say so,” the smile on his lips was thin, forced, and he only noticed
now the bags under his eyes, wondering absently where, or even if, he'd been
sleeping while he’d been taking up his unfairly comfortable bed. Managing not
to betray the shard of ice behind his eyes as he picked up his mug, wiping the
table clean with a tissue and heading into the kitchen, hearing the soft pad of
feet as Sly no doubt stole one of his cigarettes. “I suppose it’s useless to
tell you not to smoke?”
“Yep.”
“Of course,” he muttered, not noticing the almost vehement yellow eyes that
flickered to his back, tracing over the muscles of his shoulders and biceps,
raising his voice a second later so he could hear. “You hungry?”
“I don’t need your charity,” he had snapped again, because what did he fucking
want? Why had he done all of this? Let Sly sleep in his bed for apparently two
whole days, stitched him up, looked after him and changed him into fresh, clean
clothes that smelt to fucking good he never wanted to take them off.
“Never said you did,” he retaliated so gracefully Sly almost quirked his lip
because he was as smart as ever when it came to clever comebacks, managing to
control the urge as the bartender turned to face him. “I’ve got some leftover
fried rice, you want it or not?”
There was a moment in which they both just stared at each other, waiting to see
who would cave, one pair of eyes irritated and more than a little frustrated,
and the others hard and distrustful even as smoke swirled to conceal them. Then
Sly grit his teeth together, biting at his tongue as he answered, shrugging as
if to say he didn’t care either way when really he wanted to fucking run and
never look back, to throw these borrowed clothes back and to never inhale their
heady scent again because fuck something was wrong.
“Fine.”
Now his smile was real and it made something in his lungs break, coughing into
his fist and swallowing down thick phlegm with only a slight expression of
disgust, going back to his cigarette anyway. “There, was that so hard?”
It was rhetorical, he knew that, but as the bartender disappeared into the
kitchen and the whir of the microwave began, sound of clattering bowls and
cutlery unnervingly homely, all he could think was yes, that was really fucking
hard.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“When did you last eat?” Mizuki remarked, managing to sound somehow calm
despite his raised eyebrow of amazement as he watched Sly practically inhale
food after a few nervous, cursory bites. It seemed this was normal for him, to
start slowly and uncertainly, then to frantically shovel it in the moment he
realized it wasn’t going to be taken away and he could genuinely eat all of the
generous portion Mizuki had given him. He was almost impressed, though he was
concerned eating that much in such a short amount of time would give him
stomach pain, not to mention that with his injury he should probably be more
gentle in all aspects of life, not that gentle was something he’d ever
associate with Sly.
“Dunno,” he replied through a mouthful of sticky rice, piece of chicken
carefully clutched in his chopsticks with a bite already missing beginning to
slide free, noticing at the last minute and eating it messily, smearing juice
on his chin. It looked like he was genuinely thinking about it, and Mizuki
wondered how on earth he could not know when he last ate, he understood being
so busy you might miss one meal, but to genuinely not remember was almost
scary.
“Hm, is that why you lost the fight?” His question was worded politely enough,
and he liked to think he didn’t sound at all mocking, but Sly’s fairly calm
expression still instantly hardened as if he’d offended him to his face.
“Who said I lost?” His entire expression was stony, mouth twisted into an ugly
frown that was almost smug while still managing to be offended, brows lowered
defensively and hands hard on his bowl.
He actually laughed at that, admitting to himself he earned the glare he
received, but that was funny, chuckling and waving his hands as if to excuse
himself, “the thirty centimeter long cut on your stomach.”
“You measured it?” He looked genuinely surprised, raising his hoodie, too big
and so warm on his skinny frame, regarding the bandage wrapped neatly around
himself with interest, wondering just what the tattooist would do if he
unwrapped it to look.
“Not precisely,” he shrugged, because even if he had measured it why would it
matter? It was fine now, stitched up and re-bandaged every day so far, checked
carefully for any signs of infection and securely closed with thick black
thread. “Took thirty-two stitches.”
Sly had continued to eat while he spoke, anger at the indirect insult fading
away under the information that the bartender had sat and carefully,
painstakingly joined the edges of skin together with more stitches than he had
ever had at one time.
“Freaked me out a bit when you passed out though,” he chuckled but it was
nervous, scratching the back of his head and running his eyes over his guest as
if searching for signs that he was fine now, and not about to collapse into his
empty bowl.
“Why?”
Mizuki raised an eyebrow because he really didn’t understand why him going
rapidly from awake and in his normal state to being unconscious and covered in
blood on his sofa might be a cause for at least mild concern? He really was
fucked up… “You looked kinda dead.”
“Hm,” he debated this for a second, because that made it sound like the
prospect of him dying had worried him, which would be sweet if it wasn’t so
fucking ridiculously unlikely that it made him want to laugh, so he did. “Pity
I didn’t, it’d make a lot of people happy.”
There it was again, that stare that he couldn’t explain but made his heart do
strange things in his chest, that made his breath stop and him feel so fucking
exposed it was terrifying, hairs rising because it was so calculating, as if he
could see straight through him.
“Not me.”
Short, simple, to the point and so fucking genuine he couldn’t swallow the
saliva that pooled in his mouth, suddenly feeling hot all over and eyes burning
even as his brain screamed at him that it was a trick, it had to be, people
weren’t nice. He was horribly aware of the silence in between them, those eyes
watching him so open and warm he felt like he was being sucked in by them and
he hated it, hated that he wanted to get closer, to listen to the nice things
he was saying and to believe them even as he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t about
to ruin everything by letting this smooth talking asshole make him feel like he
was worthy of anything, he knew who he was and what he was, and that was less
than worthless, managing a frown even though it felt foreign on his lips now.
“I have to go.”
The words came as no surprise to Mizuki, who just nodded and stood to unlock
the door, picking up Sly’s bag and praying he wouldn’t notice the extra weight
as he shoved it over his shoulder. He did immediately, eyes flitting to his
before darting away again as he let an amused puff of air escape his lips, not
chapped and torn for once, the benefit of good rest and being taken care of, he
supposed, telling himself not to get used to it. He knew what he’d find in the
bag were he to open it, first aid supplies, food for at least a week and some
clothes, maybe even a few yen tucked into one of the pockets, a packet of fresh
cigarettes and the bottle of vodka he could already feel digging into his
shoulder.
“Look after yourself, okay?” Those were meant to be parting words, Sly already
out the door and back to the other, voice echoing in the empty hallway that led
down to the exit he craved, mind pulling him towards it even as some unknown
force that he blamed on the genuineness of his voice, of all his actions, made
him turn around.
He didn’t know what he was going to do until it happened, stretching on tiptoe
and healing knuckles pale on tanned skin, but this time Mizuki didn’t stop him,
those expressive eyes just regarding him as always, like he was a puzzle he
longed to solve. His large, warm hand even came to settle on his hip, sending a
jolt of pain through the bandages he wished was strong enough to stop him as he
reached up and kissed him, again. Soft like it had been the first time, like it
wasn’t meant to be, like he fucking hated more than anything, gentle and slow
and so goddamned warm he felt like it was defrosting something deep inside him.
But the ice settled when he broke away, feel of the bartenders lips moving
against his, with his, willing like he hadn’t been so far and giving in like
he’d wanted. But not like this, he hadn’t wanted him like this, he’d wanted his
heat, his fire, not this gentle warmth that made him melt as a thumb rubbed
against his side, not wanting to break away even as his heart rate increased
and oh fuck-
He broke away suddenly, missing the hand on his side even as he backed away,
lips parted as he stared at the other, unable to meet his eyes, taking in his
confused expression, somehow still so fucking infuriatingly, aggravatingly
accepting. His cheeks weren’t pink, they were the same as always and Sly cursed
himself because why did he want them to be pink? Why should he give a fuck
about anything this man did?
“Sly?” Concern, warmth, kindness, everything the bartender was and everything
he could never, would never be, mirrored in that one word, making his name
sound so soft and so precious and there was fucking bile in his throat.
But he just growled in response, low and under his breath, coming out as an
annoyed scoff, angry with himself and angry with Mizuki for letting him fucking
kiss him like that, for daring to kiss him back, for touching him like he was
fragile when he was fucking stronger than everyone.
This time he didn’t look back, scowl plastered across his face with no chance
of fading and door slamming behind him so hard he was certain he felt plaster
trickle down into his hair, kicking at the first thing he saw when he was out
of earshot and savoring the pain that shot through him. Venting his frustration
to the universe in curses and screams at passing strangers, feeling of pride he
usually got when people moved out of his way utterly absent as he stalked to
his warehouse. He needed to get high, and he needed to do it right fucking now
before his brain exploded from all this thinking and he tricked himself into
something stupid like believing maybe somebody might like him.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
As he could have anticipated, he was back about a week later, sporting a nice
shiny new bruise on his jawbone and just grinning as the bartender rolled his
eyes and let him in, noticing absently he was wearing one of the hoodies he’d
snuck into his bag.
“Wanna get high?”
As an opening remark it was unusual, and not necessarily enticing either,
burgundy brow raising because he wasn’t being serious was he? Mizuki was no
stranger to drugs but he didn’t exactly do them often, in fact these days weed
was the strongest thing he indulged in, and even that was usually just him
chilling on the sofa with a pizza and a joint. But to get high with Sly Blue of
all people? He imagined that would involve something a lot heavier than weed
and he really wasn’t sure he was into that scene any more, not to mention that
getting utterly out of control around him would just be sheer stupidity.
Plus he was already pretty drunk, having just come back from an engagement
celebration party he’d hosted in the bar, several shots of tequila and more
pints than were strictly advisable burning through his veins. He knew mixing
certain drugs with alcohol was fine, party drugs like LSD and MDMA, he’d done
it himself before and been fine with it, but he knew some substances did not go
well with alcohol at all.
“Um, not… Particularly?” He replied tentatively, but it was worded like a
question, because he had no desire to get fucked up, in fact his plan had been
the usual, take a stupidly long shower with a couple more beers, order takeout
and veg in front of his flat screen with the latest three-or-more-star-rated
blockbuster.
“You know, for a bartender and Ribster you’re really fucking boring,” and damn,
wasn’t that just another of his challenges? Already drunk, vision blurry round
the edges and cocky smirk too self-satisfied as the bartender gave in easily,
catching the bottle of rum, because why not mix it up? He threw at him, and he
caught it easily, grinning as he cracked it open and took a mouthful. “But I
could be wrong.”
He didn’t know why he was unable to say no to Sly, maybe it was his stubborn
pride that he refused to be tarnished by a sixteen year old, or maybe it was
because he knew he’d actually have fun if he just let himself lose control a
little. He didn’t even think to ask what it was as he swallowed down the tiny
pill, and that was his first mistake.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
His eyes eased open and he was suddenly aware of how horribly, almost
unbearably hungover he was, head pounding and allowing himself a self-suffering
groan as he rolled over to stick his face in his pillow, light coming through
the slits in his blinds painful. He was just glad it was quiet, opening one eye
to peer at his alarm clock and noticing with a pleasant sort of reluctance that
it was nearly one in the afternoon, so hopefully he’d gotten a decent amount of
sleep. His brow furrowed as he wondered exactly when he had eventually fallen
into bed, large amounts of the night were obscured by black smudges where he
just had no idea what could have happened. After the third drink and those tiny
pills everything had become a hazy blur of colors and rainbow shades and some
strange, growing warmth. The pillow was soft under his cheek and all he wanted
was to stay there until sleep took him again, but of course life wasn’t that
simple and the rest he desired so much just wouldn’t come. Resigning himself to
a horrible day of wakeful misery he decided to try and work out what had
happened, things returning in fragmented patches like shards of shattered vodka
bottle. His mouth was dry and there was some strange but familiar taste on his
lips, sweet and rather sharp like a crisp green apple, absently remembering
warmth in his lap and figuring with only a small amount of alarm that he’d
probably made out with Sly.
Probably made out. With Sly. Sly.
“Ohhh God…” he groaned, whined almost, because oh fuck he hadn’t done anything
stupid had he? So intoxicated already without agreeing to get fucking high too
he knew full well he could have done almost anything, including the things he
would absolutely point blank refuse to even think about doing when sober.
Suddenly the pillow felt suffocating and he rolled over, strange noise catching
his attention because it had sounded like a snicker and something inside him
was frozen with dread, praying he’d imagined it even as his eyes locked onto
amused yellow.
“Morning sunshine,” he smirked, almost mockingly as he regarded Mizuki’s
expression, a combination of confused, alarmed and utterly horrified, tapping
his cigarette into an ashtray and sitting cross legged on the pillow beside him
as if he was meant to be there.
“Oh God,” and now his voice was sheer alarm, short and pointed because oh fuck
he must have done something and that was not what he intended to do, trying to
tell himself to stay calm until he knew for sure what had happened. “We
didn’t.”
Sly just quirked an eyebrow, obviously enjoying the bartender’s distress
greatly as he just stretched upwards, and the only relieving thing Mizuki could
think of was that at least they were both wearing clothes. He had the feeling
if he’d woken up naked next to him he would have had a next level crisis and it
wouldn’t have ended well for either of them, or the part of him that had  been
considering it lately might take over and before he knew it he’d end up in some
fucked up sex buddy relationship.
But then the moment was over and he rolled electric yellow eyes heavenward,
smirking softly as if to say Mizuki could calm down, but then it turned nasty
and the bartender had no time to brace himself before he spoke. “Nah, I just
sucked you off.”
His voice was shockingly casual as ever and for a moment that was all his
alcohol numbed body could take in, blinking once, twice before the words sank
in and his heart plummeted to his feet because oh god no. His shoulder had
finished its noncommittal shrug and he was stubbing out his cigarette before
the bartender could even think to be suspicious, to not trust him because
honestly he had no real reason to. It was exactly the type of thing Sly would
do, lie about it to freak him out for his own sick pleasure, to enjoy the guilt
he would feel even if it was unwarranted.
“Y-You did what?” He didn’t even care when his voice failed, blaming it’s crack
on his dry throat and parched lips as he stared at his guest with alarmingly
wide eyes and fingers beginning to shake on the covers as he eased himself up
to a sitting position.
“Sucked your dick,” he repeated, lighting a second cigarette and, as usual, was
cocky enough to offer Mizuki his own box, not commenting on how much his
fingers were trembling as he took one and lit it with the proffered lighter.
“You’re bigger than I expected, it’d feel awesome inside.”
He couldn’t register anything right now, his stomach was rolling queasily and
it wasn’t just because of his hangover, head pounding and entire body sore and
stiff, achy points in his back groaning as he swallowed and took a drag of his
cigarette. Ignoring his comments on his apparently very well sized penis, he
narrowed his eyes, watching the other through a haze of smoke and growing dread
as the other just stared him down, “you’re serious?”
“Yeah,” he gave an almost scoffing laugh as he spoke, smoke washing over his
face like a cloud and one eyebrow lowered incredulously. “You were really
fucked up, huh? Shame you don’t remember, you seemed to enjoy it.”
“I..?” His voice failed because what the fuck was he meant to say? He’d gone
against all his morals, against the personally enforced code he’d put in place
for Sly, let a sixteen year old, and he was only fucking sixteen, give him a
blow job. Oh God he was a paedophile, willingness of Sly or not, he was, and he
felt sick to his stomach not because of the legal ramifications, but because it
was a disgusting thing for him to have allowed to happen.
“Oh you loved it, pulling my hair, making all these breathy little moans,” he
smirked dirtily, biting his lip and making a small pleased noise that just made
stomach acid rise to burn the tattooist’s throat as yellow eyes glazed over. “I
could give a repeat performance, refresh your memory?”
“I… No!” His voice grew hard quickly, accepting that it was the truth and
knowing that the last thing he wanted was a repeat of whatever had happened
yesterday that he had apparently so enjoyed, feeling queasy as he looked down
at his hands. Had they been knotted into tangled blue hair yesterday? Had he
forced Sly into it or had he been seduced by the other? He wasn’t sure if he
wanted to remember or not, not knowing was horrible but the knowledge of it,
the memory would haunt him. “Fucking hell Sly you’re serious?”
“Yeah,” his grin was losing its amusement, he was growing bored of this now,
because maybe he’d expected Mizuki to freak out for ten minutes then get over
it, to figure that it had happened once, it may as well happen again. He
thought he’d fucking remember at least blurry events that had led to him being
here, sat on his bed and with the taste of him heavy on his tongue.
“Oh fucking hell,” he buried his head in his hands, because he knew now what
Sly looked like when he lied, and he wasn’t now, expression as honest as it
could get and growing bored as he just freaked out next to him.
There was the sound of shifting sheets and he glanced up to see Sly sliding off
the bed, scratching at his stomach lazily over the still healing wound there,
sewn shut by Mizuki’s own tanned hands that he now looked at with disgust.
“Calm down, it’s not like anybody’s going to find out.”
“That’s not the point! Fucking hell Sly, I told you no!”
“You weren’t saying that yesterday,” he replied, eyes glinting with growing
anger because he might have finally gotten part of what he wanted, but he
didn’t appreciate having this thrown back at him as if this was all his fault.
“I don’t know what I was saying, how do I know you’re not just lying?” He
wasn’t, they both knew that, but god damn it Mizuki wanted to believe that he
was, that he hadn’t let it happen and that Sly hadn’t done it. He could
remember how eager, willing, almost desperate he had seemed to touch the
bartender in any way he could, wondering if he’d  been as keen yesterday, had
he been more than willing? Smirking that dirty smile as he sank down onto his
knees and unbuttoned his fly and slid his soft, pink mouth down over- Vomit
rose in his throat and he knew he couldn’t think about it anymore for fear he’d
actually throw up all over his bed, standing suddenly and ignoring the pain in
his head to stalk out, past Sly to the living room. He swore his heart
stuttered in his chest as he took it in, the empty bottles on the coffee table
and the tiny plastic pack of pills open and scattered across the wood. But most
horrifying of all was his jeans, crumpled in a pile in front of the couch and
table shoved back as if to make enough room for somebody to kneel between
thickly muscled tanned thighs.
“Believe me now?” The voice was almost cold as it spoke up from behind him,
walking into the room and, to Mizuki’s disgust, taking a swig from one of the
vodka bottles, wiping his mouth dry and gritting his teeth against the burn. He
didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, the evidence was right here, and as Sly
shifted to gather up the pills of whatever they were, he could make out
bruising on his neck that had not been there yesterday.
“You-Your neck,” he said dumbly, almost stupidly, watching as confusion
flittered across Sly’s face for just a second before it morphed into
understanding and he straightened up, grinning and moving his hair out of the
way.
Oh, he could see the way his mouth must have been on pale skin, red marks
raised and bruising already where he must have bitten and sucked the skin into
his mouth, because they’d done a lot more than just make out.
“Pretty, right?” He grinned, and his words were so genuine that Mizuki was
surprised for a moment, watching slim fingers brush against them almost
reverentially before his eyes darkened and he stepped closer, narrowing the
space between them. He was so taken aback, so utterly confused and lost and
disgusted at himself that for a second he didn’t register the hands on his
chest, curling up onto his shoulders seductively, grin teasing as he regarded
the stunned man. “So, what do you say? You gunna fuck me now?”
“What happened was a mistake,” his voice was firm but his hands were shaking as
he pushed Sly off because he felt sick when he thought about it but oh God he
knew he’d think about it too much and his turbulent thoughts were almost
killing him.
“Didn’t seem like a mistake when you were cumming in my mouth.”
He recoiled immediately, turning his head away because God he’d said that so
matter of factly it made his stomach churn, words so wrong coming out of his
young mouth, out of anyone’s mouth. “Oh, fucking hell Sly that’s disgusting,”
he cringed violently, lip curling in repulsion because that wasn’t imagery he
needed to have, he didn’t need to hear him saying it so casually like he wasn’t
bothered, like he didn’t care, like it had been okay to do what he did. “I
shouldn’t have let you do that.”
“You were high, you couldn’t have done anything,” he was trying to explain it
again, to act like it was all okay, this was okay and they were okay and there
wasn’t a brick of cold dread in the bartenders stomach because he’d really
fucked up this time.
But he was wrong, he had known what was going on, he was high, really high, but
he could have pushed him away, should have, told him to get off,  not let him
kiss him or slide hands under his shirt or kneel down and-
“Yeah, whose fault was that?” He cut his own thoughts off sharply because he
couldn’t remember any more, it was too confusing, conflicting with his emotions
saying one things and his body saying another, brain in such conflict he could
barely choose which voice to side with.
“Yours,” his lip was curled up in contempt, because he was not going to take
blame for something he didn’t think he needed to be blamed for. ”You took the
pills.”
“I don’t even know what they were! Jesus Sly, I know you wanted this but can’t
you take no for a fucking answer?” He was already angry with himself enough,
but his feelings towards Sly now were on a mad axis, one end was upset and
betrayed and damn irritated because he’d been fucking high and that meant any
consent he might seemingly have given damn well didn’t count, the other end of
the axis he was too scared to even think of.
“Oh relax,” the casual way he was brushing this aside was aggravating, actually
scoffing as if Mizuki was making some kind of unreasonable fuss when really it
wasn’t that bad. “As if you wouldn’t do it again.”
“I wouldn’t,” his resolve was steel now, he couldn’t even believe it had
happened, it was all a light-headed, drug hazy dream that somehow had
horrifically accurately solidified into his mind until he could imagine the
entire thing from beginning to end in disgusting detail.
Sly raised a slim blue eyebrow, expression almost deadpan as he stared at him
in disbelief because some people really were in denial, and it was rather sad,
lying to yourself like this, why couldn’t he just give in and admit it. “So if
I offered to right now, if I kissed you til you were breathless and bit your
neck the way that made you moan, if I got your dick hard then got down onto my
knees in front of you, you wouldn’t?”
“Just… Just stop talking,” he spoke through gritted teeth because he was
painting a picture he didn’t want to see, a picture he’d never let himself
imagine before but now the floodgates had broken and ah shit he could remember
it too well. His hand was raised next to his head, palm open, fingers splayed
beside his ear and jerking back and forth as if trying to push him away without
actually having to touch him. “I’m not fucking listening.”
“I’m going to make you! Stop fucking lying to yourself!” He was angry about
this, but why? Why should he care about a fuck? He could get plenty on the
streets if he really wanted to, but no, he’d set his eyes on Mizuki and he had
ways of getting whatever he wanted, the issue was that normally his desires
were less alive. “You’re such a fucking bullshitter! If I stripped down, told
you to do anything, to fuck into me so hard I can’t see and grip my throat so
it bruises, to pound into me until blood ran down my thighs you’d fucking do
it, you know full well you want to and you’re fucking afraid! You don’t know
how to take what you want but I’m right here and I’m telling you to fucking-“
His words cut short as Mizuki’s already short temper snapped, disgust boiling
in every inch of him as Sly spoke like this, said things most people would
never even think, let alone verbalize, disgusting, depraved things, things
nobody should ever want.
“Shut up! Fucking shut up!” He’d lunged for him before Sly could register it,
hand shoving into his shoulder hard and slamming him into the wall, yellow eyes
widening and lips parting to gasp in what probably was more than surprise if
his heart rate was anything to go by. His knuckles were white where they
twisted into his shirt, keeping him there, because he wouldn’t let him leave
now, he wanted answers, he wanted to fucking understand for once what made him
like this. “Is that what you want? For me to hurt you? To fuck you like some
sort of doll I can do whatever I want to? What the fuck is wrong with you, Sly?
Why are you like this? What happened to you to fuck you up like this?”
He’d started off angry, no, livid. Lips drawn back over his teeth and eyes hard
like steel, entire face contorted with rage because he’d touched his last
fucking nerve and he couldn’t stand to hear him talk like that, to make
assumptions about him that were so damn wrong. But now his confusion had seeped
through and he was almost sad, verging on pitying, begging for an explanation,
for some way to empathize here because he made it pretty fucking difficult.
“Nothing happened! You’re the fucking weird one here! What do you want me to
say? Sorry? Because you’ll be waiting a long fucking time!”
“I don’t want you to say anything, I want you to stop this act. To stop
pretending to be so hard and so cold when I know you’re not! You’re a fucking
human Sly,” his voice was still icy, he’d never heard himself like this and
suddenly, almost as if he’d snapped, he realized how hard he was gripping his
shoulder, standing over him as if about to hit him. He was upset still,
disappointed in the both of them, letting him go with one final push and
breathing heavily through his nose, shaking his head as his anger faded as fast
as it had come, “start acting like one.”
He didn’t know what to say, that was obvious, lips parted and for once his
vulnerable expression didn’t fade away with a blink of his eyes and a smirk, it
stayed put and it was horrible to see, his eyes all crinkled at the corners as
he tried to speak and failed. He couldn’t even manage to tell him to fuck off
as he broke eye contact, gazing at the floor as if ashamed of the show of
emotion, exhale painfully shaky as he managed a weak glare, blinking too fast
and swallowing hard.
The bartender went to step forwards, to say something, to fix this, because he
looked like he was going to cry and he’d be damned if he was the reason anybody
cried, let alone somebody as tough as Sly, who would take a lot to break. But
then he’d turned on his heel and yanked the door open just enough to slip
through, not even closing it behind him and letting in a gust of cold air. He
must have heard wrong, he had to, because he swore he’d heard a sob in the
second the air between them shifted and the room came back into real time
again.
***** Chapter 8 *****
“Hey Mizuki, you get some action last night or what?” The voice was jovial,
amused as blue eyes regarded him but his blood turned cold as if he was being
accused of something, thinking somehow he knew, he’d seen Sly arriving or
leaving, he knew, they all did.
But no, he couldn’t, it was just his overactive imagination making him think
the worst, he knew Tio, even if he had seen Sly he wouldn’t ask like this, he’d
try and be casual, remark that he’d seen him and let the bartender choose
whether to bullshit him or whether to tell the truth. Even then he wouldn’t
push it, accepting any answer he was given because he deserved his privacy and
he knew he had no right to intrude on whatever he might do in his personal
time, offering a suggestion to stay away from him if he could, reminding him he
was bad news. Bad news Mizuki couldn’t seem to stop reading, wanting to turn
the page, to know more, to be there when new stories broke and pale skin tore
open.
“It’s rude to kiss and tell,” he managed to joke back, and his alarm was easily
masked with appropriate and utterly real embarrassment as he rubbed the back of
his neck, suddenly aware of eyes staring at him exactly where his hand rested.
Putting two and two together and turning to see himself in the mirrored liquor
cabinet, glad it was halfway through being filled so he could see the
insubstantial, but obvious hickey on his tanned skin. “Well shit.”
There was a hand on his shoulder and the friendly nature of it made him do
nothing but cringe as he turned round and tried to hide the bile rising in his
throat, the anger, because he had surely known he shouldn’t leave marks, yet he
had anyway and it was such a Sly thing to do he was almost amused. “They were
brave, huh?”
While the attention was almost completely unappreciated, the careful use of the
word ‘they’, didn’t go unnoticed by the bartender, grateful as always for his
teams acceptance when it came to things like his sexuality, just glad he didn’t
have to correct them when they assumed it was a female he would have taken to
his bed. He couldn’t hide a smirk though as he thought Sly wouldn’t be very
brave after he kicked his head in, though of course he knew he’d never do that
to Sly or anyone else.
“Yeah,” he scoffed, deciding to make a joke of this, because that was what his
life had become, one massive fucking joke where the punchline was a jail
sentence or utter isolation from everybody he knew and loved, probably both.
“Guess they didn’t know it’s a crime to harm Dry Juice’s leader.”
He was joking of course, he got hurt in the line of duty plenty of times and
Tio knew that, but he respected him enough to understand that he wanted the
topic of conversation dropped, laughing along but resuming his task of
restocking the mini-fridges. Mizuki couldn’t tell why he’d asked, was he
genuinely just teasing him? Or was he secretly wanting to know who the
bartender felt deserved a place in his bed when he’d been thrown out long ago
now, the agreement to just be friends and ignore Tio’s feelings bubbling
between them whenever things like this happened, guilt filling Mizuki’s chest
as he excused himself to stock take in the back room.
 
===============================================================================
 
They were laughing, talking and joking as usual, always such lads when they got
together, pretending they weren’t all big softies when they were at home with
their significant others or buying bouquets of flowers because they were all
sweet at heart. That’s why he’d picked them after all, despite the way it
seemed to outsiders, he didn’t just let anybody join his team, they were
carefully selected and went through a rigorous if not obvious initiation over
the period of up to three months. First they had to show interest, other than
Tio, who had been the first member and an obvious choice as his best friend,
they had to come to him and him alone to express a desire to join, to be part
of this strong team and family. That was the second thing, they had to
understand that Dry Juice wasn’t just a Rib team to any of the members, it was
a family, a close knit group of friends who relied on each other even outside
of their group activities, developing friendships and making strong,
unbreakable bonds.
The third stage was an introduction, letting them come along to meetings and on
their rounds, inducting them to who they were and what they did, watching their
interactions and judging whether they were there for the right reasons, making
sure they weren’t just joining for status or power. Only some passed this, and
some didn’t even get an invitation to this, sometimes people would come to him
and ask to join, and if he immediately sensed anything but genuine interest he
would turn them away with a friendly smile and an apology that they usually
took well but some didn’t. He wasn’t willing to let people join his family
unless they wanted to be a part of it too, rough people, or rude ones just
wouldn’t fit in and he didn’t want to cause any rifts that could break them
apart.
He was hazing in someone right now, a rather quiet guy he had seemed at first,
but now he seemed to have warmed to them, still nervous but managing to fit in
well with some of the other less central members, he was pretty funny despite
his timid nature and they took to him almost immediately. A few drinks and
increased confidence and most of them loved him, joking together and bantering
almost like he had always been there, sat crowded around a table not really
meant for six large guys, shoulders squashed together but none of them really
minding.
He couldn’t help but smile as he looked over, because this was what he’d always
wanted, his bar, his life, filled with people who were important to him, who,
even if they’d never admit it, loved each other and being part of something
this special. Shooting Yuu a grin when he looked over and only growing more
certain that he’d let him join officially soon as he smiled back, shy under the
direct attention and not yet realising that Mizuki was no more special than the
rest of them. New members or recruits still in the initiation stage were often
wary of him, maybe thinking he’d be like the leaders of other groups, distant
and official, placing himself as the boss and making sure everybody knew that
by using his power so they feared him. But he hadn’t made this team to get
slaves, he’d made it for friends, and he was more than willing to befriend each
new member as much as he could, sometimes he didn’t even especially like
certain members, but the others did and they were friendly enough, so usually
he’d put it to a team vote too.
He knew already, as he approached the group and heard the tone of conversation
change to one less jovial and more serious that any vote he’d hold would be
answered with a resounding yes. Then it would be time for the final stage,
Mizuki himself would tattoo their tag art on Yuu somewhere, wherever he wanted,
as big or as small, he’d be assigned duties and he’d officially be a member
until he decided to leave for whatever reason. They’d had a few people quit
recently, one was now married with a child and had to hold down a job, a few
just said they were too old for it, and a couple had found things they found
more fulfilling, partners or jobs and had left. He was always sad to see them
go, they all were, but they knew they were more than welcome to re-join or just
visit whenever they wanted, keeping a firm friendship with them even after they
moved on.
But the warmth inside his chest faded slightly, flickering like a lighter in
the wind as he began to catch snippets of their conversation that he wasn’t
sure he much liked, deciding to hang back and drink his beer, wanting to see
where this was going.
“Did you see him?”
“Yeah, he looks like shit man, well, more than usual.” There was laughter at
this, and while they might be a gang of sorts, Mizuki was always quick to
ensure they remained the good people they had been when they joined, sure they
wouldn’t be talking about any of their fellow members but still not liking the
almost bullying tone of their words.
“Maybe somebody finally tried to kill him…”
“Wouldn’t be surprised, he does enough to tempt people, I’m surprised no one’s
tried before.”
“Those black eyes though, they really messed his face up, his arms are all
bruised too.”
“Maybe he got raped or something.” He really frowned at this because whoever
they were talking about they really didn’t like and there weren’t many people
on the Island so universally hated, in fact he could only think of one and he
swallowed hard, thinking of yellow eyes damp with angry tears he refused to let
fall.
“Oh come on, as if he wouldn’t love it.”
More laughs, dirty and harsher than he would ever want them to sound, clearing
his throat and noticing the eyes on him, still amused but slightly stilted as
if knowing Mizuki wasn’t going to be happy with what they were discussing.
“What you guys talking about?” He asked, friendly enough, draining his beer and
accepting the stool Ken abandoned as he checked his coil and announced with
alarm that he was late to meet his girlfriend, accepting the slaps on the back
he was given as he smiled apologetically and waved his goodbyes.
“Nothing much,” Kouhaku shrugged, having the grace to look a little sheepish.
“You haven’t see Sly Blue lately, have you?”
As usual the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with nervousness, always
afraid they’d somehow found out and everything he’d worked so hard to build
would collapse under him and he’d be left alone again. Managing a neutral
expression as he peeled the label off his bottle in messy strips, shaking his
head, “no, why, what’s he been up to this time?”
There were shared smiles at this, though Yuu didn’t look too amused, biting his
lip and watching where the bartenders hands balled the paper up and played with
it almost anxiously, olive eyes blinking as he noticed he was being watched.
“He looks a mess, he was in Amaidesu the other day,” there were noises of mild
confusion and he smiled awkwardly. “The bakery my mom owns, he was trying to
steal food or something.”
“Yeah, what’s new?” More laughs, as if it was funny that he had to resort to
stealing food just so he wouldn’t starve to death, luckily all too distracted
to see Mizuki’s lip twitch unhappily at their callousness. He knew nobody
appreciated being stolen from, but people refused even to give him stale stock
or things nobody would buy, so what did they expect him to do? Remain a law-
abiding citizen and starve to death? It was cruel that nobody tried to
understand why he did what he did, why he had to resort to theft.
“Mm, well I was helping out when he came in… He looks awful, one of his eyes
all swollen shut and the other one nearly as bad, there were bruises all around
his neck and his arms were bad too. I dunno, mom said maybe he got badly beaten
up but I don’t think that’s it.”
“How come?” he tried to remain neutral, as if he were merely curious to hear
the gossip about Midorijimas least wanted and there weren’t snakes twisting in
his gut because if his injuries were so bad people had noticed, they must be
awful since he was never exactly uninjured to begin with.
“He was limping, and there was blood on his jeans…” He paused, and he was the
only one who seemed genuinely concerned, frowning as he gestured vaguely to the
area he meant.
“There’s a rumour going round that he got gang raped,” Kouhaku again, looking
at least mildly displeased with the idea, voice uncomfortable as he spoke,
because even Sly didn’t really deserve that, nobody did. “By another Rib team.”
His frown was acceptable now and he felt like he was going to throw up, trying
not to imagine it, to imagine Sly trying to fight his way through a group of
people only to be beaten so badly he couldn’t escape and just had to lie there
as they- “Like Scratch?”
Of all the other teams on the island, the only one he could think that would do
something so horrible would be Scratch, a team of escaped prison convicts led
by a huge, intimidating man named Mink who nobody knew much about. There was no
way, in Mizuki’s mind at least, that any other team would do much more than
maybe rough him up a little, and never to the extent Yuu was saying he seemed
to have been.
“Probably,” he shrugged and the rest of the group made mild noises of
displeasure, they all hated what groups like Scratch did to Rib’s reputation,
because that wasn’t what it was about for them, and as the largest group they
had the most right to say what it should be. “Poor bastard, he probably asked
for it though.”
There it was, his sympathy, mild though it was, immediately covered up with a
jab at him that he felt he had every right to be irritated by, even if he
didn’t consider Sly a proper friend he knew rape was no laughing matter no
matter what.
“Don’t joke about things like that, you might not like him but it’s still not
funny,” his tone was firm and he was just glad they were nice enough guys to
look at least a little guilty, knowing Mizuki’s rule was final, and if he said
they couldn’t laugh at it, then they wouldn’t. Their muttered apologies were
good enough for him, and he quickly changed the subject, unable to get the
bitter taste out of his mouth despite the mood rapidly improving again as they
moved on to nicer subjects.
 
===============================================================================
 
“You still want to join, right?” He asked, knowing what the answer was going to
be but needing to be absolutely certain before he let this meeting happen, if
he had any doubts he shouldn’t be officially made a member yet until they were
all gone.
His smile and nod were nervous but his expression was earnest, “yeah, I really
want to.”
“Awesome! Well the guys are all here now, so we’re going to put it to a vote,
but I’m pretty sure it’ll go in your favour.”
He looked even more nervous now, face pale and bartender’s enthusiasm not
infecting him, swallowing thickly and playing with his fingers uncertainly,
“you- You think so?”
His expression softened, because of course he was nervous, anybody would be,
he’d been accepted into the group, begun to make friends and now all that hung
on a vote to decide whether they genuinely liked him or had been pretending all
this time. He’d be scared too, but he knew full well that if his guys didn’t
like somebody, they would never pretend to, they might be rough sometimes, but
they weren’t cruel. “Positive, now come on, they’re waiting for us.”
It was like walking him into the lion’s den, the reassuring grins he received
doing nothing to settle his nerves as the large group gradually fell silent
under Mizuki’s presence, turning to face them and conversations dying out as
they got to the point of them being here.
“Okay guys, you all know why we’re here,” his grin was genuine and the apparent
horror of Sly’s situation was in the back of his mind for now as he regarded
everyone, together for the first time since Yasu’s death, trying to ignore that
too. He clapped Yuu on the back and tried not to laugh too hard when he
flinched in alarm, embarrassed with all the eyes on him as he stood beside the
team’s leader in front of the bar. “Yuu’s been with us for a couple of months
now, seeing how he likes things with us, and it’s time for us to decide if we
want him to become an official member and a part of Dry Juice.”
They were giving him their full attention, and he quietly wondered whether all
this was really necessary, they looked excited just at the prospect of him
joining, and he was certain that when he asked all hands would raise in unison.
The only person who didn’t seem to believe that was Yuu himself, but then he
supposed having your character judged like this was an unpleasant situation
already without being as shy as he was.
“Okay, so you guys know the drill, raise your hands if you-“ His words were cut
off by a crash from the apartment above, eyes flickering upwards and people
beginning to mutter, some even rising from their chairs with suspiciously
narrowed eyes. Oh fuck, he knew exactly what it was, or rather who it was,
cursing Sly’s timing because only he would break in while the entire team were
assembled in the bar below, but it almost sounded like he might have collapsed
and right now he was more worried for him than he was himself. His alarm was
quickly diverted, thanking God for quick thinking as he chuckled uncomfortably,
“there goes that shelf I hung…”
Luckily for him, his atrocious DIY skills were well known, shelves he’d
installed in the tattoo studio having fallen down after only two days of being
up and sending expensive supplies toppling to the floor. Tio was the first to
laugh, having re-hung the shelves last time and instructed, more like ordered,
Mizuki to never attempt anything like it again, “DIY is not your strong point.”
He laughed, because that at least was true, but there was fear in his heart
because if the team found Sly upstairs they’d either beat the shit out of him
or Mizuki would suddenly be the one under fire, sheltering him was hardly seen
as a good thing to anybody else. “Sorry guys, I better go make sure nothing’s
damaged.
“Um… Do you want me to come with you? How do you know it’s the shelf?” He had a
feeling Tio might object, he knew when Mizuki was lying and it was obvious now
in the way he waved him away casually, raising an eyebrow as if to say that it
was obviously the shelf.
“Nah its fine, can you do the vote for me? I’ll be like ten minutes tops,” he
asked, knowing he’d agree perfectly happily and that the rest of the guys
wouldn’t mind, he was Mizuki’s right hand guy for a reason after all, just
smiling as he nodded reluctantly. His grin faded the second he got to the top
of the stairs though, making sure to lock the apartment door behind him just in
case one of them got worried and came looking for him, taking in the blood-
stained shirt on the floor and frowning. Questions answered as he heard the
shower start up and some of his tension relieved because who other than Sly
would break into his house just to use his shower?
He wasn’t entirely sure what to do, whether to try and speak to him and at
least warn him to stay quiet so he wouldn’t get the entirety of Dry Juice on
his back or Mizuki in a shit load of trouble, or whether to leave it and pray
he’d be quiet. In the end he went for a note, scratching it out messily and
leaving it in front of the bathroom door where he was sure to see it, ‘my
entire team is downstairs, be quiet, do whatever.’ By ‘do whatever’ he meant
eat his food, steal his booze and basically do what he normally did, not
entirely sure why he was giving him permission but doing it anyway, the last
thing he wanted was for him to come downstairs.
 
===============================================================================
 
“So what did we vote?” He asked the moment he walked back in, although the
happy buzz of conversation was answer enough, grinning wide and hopefully
realistically as he took in the joyous scene. Accepting Tio’s hand on his
shoulder and just laughing at his raised eyebrow because it was obvious what
they had voted, Yuu already being welcomed into the fold and looking far less
terrified than he had before Mizuki went upstairs and discovered Sly.
“Yuu, get over here.” He was able to return his smile easily enough because he
looked genuinely happy as did the rest of the team, and that was what he’d
always wanted for them, for himself, just to be happy together. Working his way
between the team, almost falling under the force of one aggressive pat on the
back, ending up stood in front of them with a permanent smile and an almost
disbelieving expression. His smile was warm as he planted a hand on his
shoulder, gripping firmly and feeling a sense of pride in his chest at how far
he had come in just a couple of months with them, knowing his guys were a
really good bunch and glad Yuu could join them. “Congratulations on passing the
vote, Yuu. You just need your tattoo now and you’ll be a proper member.”
“I booked him an appointment Thursday,” Tio interjected, grin wide as he
regarded the two of them and the others, always excited when they got a new
member and it was made official, success of a good vote raising high spirits
amongst them. “How’s the shelf?”
“There’s shower gel all over the floor but its fine,” he answered absently,
that wasn’t what he wanted them to focus on, deciding to leave Sly to his own
devices and celebrate their newest member the old fashioned way, with a toast
and a night of getting stupidly drunk. “Alright guys, bar’s open, grab a drink
so we can toast our newest member.”
The scramble for the bar was rather expected and he laughed as Yuu’s face paled
slightly, just pushing him into the throng and not surprised when he was the
first to emerge, beer nestled in his hand and two of his closest friends trying
to trap him in playful headlocks. The others quickly organising themselves,
handing out glass bottles and cracking cans of whatever they fancied, mainly a
beer and cider drinking group though Mizuki knew later on the shots would come
out in force and at least a couple of them would end up being sick or carried
home.
But eventually they were all sorted and he and Tio were the last to grab
drinks, popping the top off his icy bottle with a grin and raising it in Yuu’s
direction, noticing the pink flush of his cheeks as the attention was again
placed solely on him, friends nudging him only making it worse.
“A toast to our newest member, Yuu,” he didn’t even need to look to know
everybody else’s drinks were raised too, joined in a gesture of solidarity, the
traditional toast to their new members, a way to express how happy they were
with their new family member. “Welcome to the team.”
Their voices spoke as one, raising drinks skyward, boy in question seeming
rather emotional about the whole thing, slightly damp eyed even as Mizuki shot
him a friendly wink, well prepared for the sudden madness after the moment of
stillness. Kouhaku breaking it first, letting out a loud whoop and the others
quickly following suit, bar filling with cheering and whistles and any other
noise of joy they could make, Tio just nudging Mizuki and raising his eyebrows
as if to say, here we go, it’s going to be a messy night.
 
===============================================================================
 
Drinking til 3am wasn’t something he indulged in often, but tonight he was
being careful, making sure he was still in total control even as his entire
team got fucked up around him, laughing along with the others as they acted
like morons or started impromptu card games that never went anywhere. At 3.27,
with Yuu almost unconsciously drunk, he decided to call it a night, making sure
somebody was taking him home to his mother and seeing everyone else out,
watching as they climbed into taxis or staggered off in small groups, singing
and yelling even now. Calling goodbyes to the last guy to go, then when he was
sure all was safe and everybody was okay, he headed back into the bar to survey
the mess. There was vomit on the floor by the sofa, courtesy of Yuu, who’d been
handed shots and drinks all night, as was also tradition, finally having had
far too much and emptying his stomach onto the floor, luckily tile and easy
enough to clean, though Mizuki still wasn’t looking forward to it. Bottles and
cans and shot glasses littered every available surface and several lingered
under tables and chairs, rolling about where his feet accidentally hit them as
he headed to the bar itself. Sticky puddles of luminous alcohol were gathering
fluff on the counter and there were still opened bottles of everything ranging
from vodka to cream liquor and absinthe, lids lying round with no sign of which
bottle they belonged to.
He sighed as Tio headed over, offering him a pat on the back he felt he needed
and beginning to try and identify the correct lids by means of trial and error,
everything else could wait but he wanted to at least ensure it would stay fresh
enough for customers the next night. He worked quickly enough, alcohol just the
mildest buzz in the back of his head, fingers nimbly screwing lids back on and
finding a cloth to wipe the sides of bottles where sugary liquid had spilled in
gungy trails. He knew where everything went on the shelves, of course he did,
he’d been working in the bar for years now, finding the empty spaces and
sliding them back into place neatly, taking the last bottle from Tio’s hand
with a quiet thanks.
But Tio paused as he turned back from his task, giving him a concerned look,
seemingly pretty sober too, “is everything okay? You seem… Distracted.”
He waved him off, smiling reassuringly though inside he felt nothing but
nervous, knowing Sly could well still be upstairs and he’d have to face him and
his rumored injuries, “nah, I’m good man. Bad shit’s been happening lately,
y’know?”
“Hm, I guess so,” he nodded, biting his lip, because the disappearances had
been continuing and most people were growing nervous now, like a shadow was
hanging over the island they were powerless to escape. Nodding finally as he
headed to the door, not seeming completely convinced but letting it slip,
because they were friends but he knew full well Mizuki didn’t have to tell him
everything, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mm-mm, see you.” The door closed and locked behind him, he felt like he could
finally breathe, anxious to climb the stairs and see what might wait for him
there, if anything, maybe Sly would already have left, but he doubted that.
Each step felt like he was walking to his doom, feeling cold dread grow in the
pit of his stomach as he got his key out of his pocket and placed it in the
lock, hesitating for a second to gather himself because oh God, if the rumours
were true, the bad ones, he didn’t know what he’d do, what he could do.
 
===============================================================================
 
As anticipated, he was still there, TV turned on albeit quietly, surprised he’d
actually listened to him and stayed quiet despite the noise there must have
been coming from downstairs, face turned towards the set and damp hair dripping
onto his oversized hoodie. His knees were tucked into his chest and he rested
his chin on them, curled up small as if trying to be invisible, hands wrapped
around the handle of a mug, steam trailing into the air as he raised it to his
lips, fingers tracing along the design almost as if trying to comfort himself.
He hadn’t noticed the bartender, eyes focused on the screen which showed some
unknown programme, though he didn’t really seem to be paying attention and
Mizuki wondered why he was still there, crumbs on the coffee table and bread
crusts showing he’d already taken some food.
He was about to speak, though he didn’t know what he’d planned on saying, but
Sly beat him to it, having apparently heard him come in but remained silent.
“Good party?”
“Mm, it was okay,” there was something oddly domestic about this, like coming
home to a boyfriend and being asked about your day, though he ignored that
comparison and kicked off his shoes instead, putting them onto the rack. He was
concerned that the other still wasn’t facing him, just emptying his mug and
lowering it onto the coffee table, cigarette he hadn’t noticed glowing red in
the dim light as he took a drag, hair concealing his face and whatever state it
was in. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His words were aggressive but his tone wasn’t, strangely
stilted as he tapped ash from his cigarette into an ashtray balanced next to
him on the sofa arm, actions normal but something about the whole thing was
wrong.
“No reason,” he lied, stretching and wondering how Sly would react if he just
demanded to see his face, or even more temptingly, just strode over and tipped
his chin up, moving the blue hair out of the way so he could see if his team
had been overreacting or if he was really that fucked up.
“Hm,” it was a laugh, soft and more like an amused huff of air than anything,
next drag deliberate and slow as he tucked his hair behind an ear, shadows
showing nothing more than darkness that could be bruises but could also be
nothing. “I’ve heard the rumours too, pretty funny, huh?”
“Not really,” each step was carefully timed, moving forwards to sit on the
coffee table in front of him and frowning as he just hid his face behind his
knees, pulling his hood up so it fell down to his nose and concealed whatever
emotion he was showing. “Show me.”
“Show you what?” His tone was growing colder but why was he here if not for
sympathy, or some other fucked up thing Mizuki couldn’t identify, he was here
for a reason, and it wasn’t just a shower or he would have left hours ago.
“Sly,” he wasn’t asking now and there was just a second of stillness before the
other sighed, small and not as irritated as it should have been, extinguishing
his cigarette and shaking his hood off, keeping his head tilted down for a
second before looking back up.
His eyes were averted, or the one that wasn’t swollen shut was anyway, almost
cringing at Mizuki’s gasp, because he just couldn’t hold it in, staring at his
horrifying injuries with a combination of disgust, shock and sympathy because
holy shit somebody had really made a mess of him. His black eye was obviously
new, red and shiny and more swollen than he thought he’d ever seen before, a
deep, curving cut underneath just beginning to scab over and bruising spreading
onto his cheekbone and nose. His lip was split, but then it nearly always was,
skin thick where it scabbed black and threatening to open again were he to open
his mouth too wide or attempt a smile, there was a red graze across his jaw and
cheek like he’d been smashed against a wall. He swallowed thickly and averted
his eyes from his, finding the bruises on his neck Yuu had spoken of, they
looked horribly like finger marks and he had the horrible feeling that if he
rolled the sleeves of his hoodie back he’d find the same around his wrists.
He wasn’t really thinking when he reached forwards to move his hair off his
neck, taking in the hard purple marks that stretched around the skin, over his
windpipe and curling round each side like an ugly necklace. He didn’t flinch
away as he’d expected, able to feel his fluttering pulse for a few seconds
before he exhaled shakily and shifted backwards, yellow eye finally meeting
his, white streaked with red where blood vessels had burst.
“What happened?” He moved away, knowing he needed space and thinking with
growing dread that he understood why, that maybe the most horrible rumour of
all was in fact the one that was tinged with some truth, horrifying truth. His
voice was soft and god he just wanted to reach out and touch him again, to rest
a hand on his knee or hold his hand, to offer him some comfort but he knew he
didn’t want it, couldn’t accept it, so he kept his hands to himself.
“Nothing, why does something have to have happened?” Colder, icy, prickling
against his skin as he frowned and his nostrils flared because how was he so
distant even now? Sat here on his sofa with enough wounds to bring most people
down, still acting like he was fine, like he wasn’t here for a reason, like
everything was peachy.
“The rumours, are they true?”
He shrugged, eyes focused on the cigarette he lit and stuck carefully between
his lips, flinch almost unnoticeable as it hit the split and stinging pain ran
through him, “some of them.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wanted to know which ones were true, had
he just been beaten up? Or had he really been raped as people had been saying?
But then maybe what happened wasn’t the most important thing, maybe he just
needed to make sure he was okay and be there as a soothing, friendly presence
if nothing else. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
He sniffed, raising a hand covered in grazes to wipe his nose and shaking his
head, “just bruises.”
He sighed, long and tired, because even if physically he didn’t feel he was
hurt that bad, he could tell he wasn’t happy, fingers shaking even more than
usual as he dragged on the cigarette in his lips and expression worryingly
blank. “Okay, you want to stay here?”
He paused to consider this for a second, bloodshot eye locked on his burning
cigarette, watching as the flame slowly ate through the paper and smoke curled
into the air, chewing on his cheek. “Mm. Just for tonight.”
“Okay, come on then, it’s late,” he stood up, almost offering him a hand as he
would a child but managing not to, just making sure he was following him as he
headed into his room, flicking off the TV on the way. He expected him to
complain, to say he’d just meant the sofa, but Mizuki wasn’t about to let him
just crash on his uncomfortable couch when he was in this state no matter what
he might say. But he just followed silently, hiding in his hoodie and hands
lost in the sleeves that wrapped around his middle, standing in his bedroom as
if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing or how he had arrived there. “Need
pyjamas?”
He just shook his head, as if shocked out of his stupor, hesitating for a
second before pulling his hoodie over his head, revealing an equally oversized
shirt that Mizuki recognised as one of the ones he’d given him a while ago,
snuck into his bag. His jeans were obviously far too big, secured with a belt
that was almost double wrapped around him, sliding them down skinny legs
speckled with black and purpling splashes of bruise and dumping them on the
floor, shirt hanging down to almost completely conceal his boxers. Somehow he
looked a million times smaller now, arms wrapped round himself tightly and all
of his usual strong shell gone completely, hiding a yawn badly and frowning
constantly.
He looked confused for a second as he watched Mizuki pull the covers back,
switching on his bedside lamp and twisting it so only the dimmest light filled
the room, “I’ve got some stuff to do, get some sleep, okay?”
He expected arguments instead, but after a second where it looked like he was
going to object, his growing annoyance faded and he just nodded, ignoring the
fact that they both knew Mizuki was lying and deciding he was too tired for
this. He pretended there weren’t eyes on him, that he wasn’t accepting charity,
that he hadn’t basically asked for it himself as he climbed into the bed,
sitting up against the pillows and pulling his knees in close again, one yellow
eye flickering over the tanned man’s face.
His smile wasn’t returned, but then he didn’t expect it to be, shutting off the
main light and sending long shadows across the room, pausing for a split second
before he shut the door to watch him curl into the bed, in foetal position and
taking up such little space you could almost miss him as he pulled the covers
up to his ear.
He didn’t sleep much that night, he sat on the sofa for a long time, watching
as the sun came up through the curtains and thinking, trying to work Sly out
for the millionth time and just coming back with a blank. It was nearly 5am by
the time he slipped into bed too, moving quietly so as not to wake him and
watching the way the light softened his features for far too long, sighing
heavily as he finally closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep. Too much had
happened and he was exhausted of it all.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Surprised you’re still here,” he remarked casually, regarding the boy who
perched on his dining table, seemingly smoking his way through his entire pack
of cigarettes, ashtray overflowing onto the shiny wood.
“Me too, he replied, and once again there was no comeback, his fire was gone,
just one eye tracking him warily as he walked over, yawning as he went and
taking the last cigarette out of the pack, they were his after all, so he was
more than entitled to one.
“You sleep okay?”
“Hm,” he shrugged, pulling his shirt back over his shoulder where the oversized
neck hole had fallen down, collarbone cut and grazed, red against his pale
skin. “Not too bad.”
He just nodded in response, because what else was he meant to say? If he wasn’t
willing to talk, continuing to babble would just annoy him. “You going to tell
me what happened now?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” the ash tumbled from his cigarette, streaking down the
black of his t-shirt and staining the fabric, probably the first clean thing
he’d worn in a while, not filled with holes and threadbare as his usual outfit
was, had been for a while.
“Suit yourself,” but he wasn’t happy. He couldn’t just turn up here looking
like that and expect to not be asked questions, to seemingly objects to his
fully valid concerns. “Hungry?”
“Bit,” and again the admission was wrong, he should be scowling, twisting his
lip so it split open and licking the blood away, spitting that he didn’t take
charity. Mizuki’s smile faltered, dying on his lips as he just nodded, because
whatever had happened to Sly had driven him here, accepting his help and
lingering as if there was something he wanted but couldn’t bring himself to ask
for, scared of his newfound vulnerability.
“Not sure I have much in,” he remarked, trying to gain back some sense of
normalcy, trying to appear casual as he walked into the kitchen even while the
yellow eye following him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Opening the fridge and hearing the soft patter of bare feet as Sly followed him
in, entering his kitchen for the first time in the bartender’s presence and
looking around as if he hadn’t been in there before stealing food. He tried to
ignore the way he followed like a child, trying not to link it to his
reluctance to sleep without the bartender the night before, as if he didn’t
want to be left alone, looking over his shoulder if not only metaphorically,
searching for danger that just wasn’t there. Opening the fridge and using the
door blocking off Sly’s view to take a deep breath, feeling significantly
unnerved at the sudden, 180 degree turn in his personality, examining the
sparsely stocked shelves. “Bacon and egg sound good?”
“Sure,” it was quiet, and he knew if he looked Sly would barely be listening,
staring around the kitchen, or maybe just at his back, making sure he was still
there, that somebody remained in his life who wouldn’t just hurt him.
He didn’t like the creeping feeling of unease that grew in his spine as he
began to cook, keeping his back to Sly because the small, childlike
vulnerability of his closely held form made him feel a little sick, focusing on
the sizzle of bacon and the ping of the toaster. Suddenly realising how hungry
he was as he cracked eggs into the pan, four of them, popping the toast back
down to warm it through and grabbing first one plate, then remembering his
guest, another and cutlery. “Coffee?”
“No.”
That was unusual too, he’d always had coffee before when he’d been here, but
then maybe he’d drunk it more as something to warm him up than because he
particularly liked it, he was hardly the type to drink it just out of
politeness after all.
 
===============================================================================
 
He ate different too, timidly, nibbling at his toast and occasionally sipping
on the glass of orange juice Mizuki had placed in front of him, figuring he
must be thirsty too, and anything to up his blood sugar was probably a good
idea. He didn’t touch the cutlery, doing everything in small, tentative
movements and ignoring the eggs altogether, dunking the bacon into the yolk and
biting it off in tiny chunks with a blank expression. Mizuki knew he’d eaten at
least something the night before, so he wouldn’t be ravenously hungry as he
almost always had been before, but it was still odd for him to eat with such
restraint whereas normally he would shovel it in like an animal with no thought
for mess or manners.
Mizuki couldn’t help but watch him, horribly aware of the way he was sitting,
trying to scrunch up small in his chair and arms kept close to his body, like
he was nervous to move too fast, too suddenly. Barely paying attention to what
he was putting in his own mouth, satiating his own hunger but not enjoying the
way the yolk burst on his tongue and the buttery crunch of the toast as his
teeth sunk through to the soft middle. If it wasn’t Sly Blue he was speaking
about, he’d almost say he just wanted to hug him, because his loud, brash
personality had suddenly disappeared and now he missed it, something he never
thought he’d think. It made him sad, worried to his very core, to see him like
this, not himself, like something had finally extinguished the fire that had
made him so hated, a fire Mizuki suddenly realised he wanted to relight.
 
===============================================================================
 
It almost seemed he was never going to leave, he’d barely touched his breakfast
and had instead just slowly smoked his way through another box of cigarettes
Mizuki had retrieved from his secret stash in his room, only invented after
Sly’s sudden arrival in his life. He’d lingered as Mizuki excused himself to
shower, steam making his head feel light for the first time in what felt like
days, thoughts heavy and bruising his shoulders where they hung oppressively.
He sat in front of the TV, but his fingers were focused on the tattooing
magazine in his hands, fingers trailing absently over the neatly printed words
on the glossy pages. He suddenly wondered if Sly could read at all, assuming
he’d seen his note the day before and decided, for once, to obey and actually
be quiet, but thinking it was possible he hadn’t been able to interpret it and
stayed quiet anyway. But now wasn’t exactly the time to ask, in fact there was
never really a good time to ask something like that, just sitting beside him on
the sofa silently, running a hand through his wet hair with a frown, thinking
he should have towelled it a little longer. He was focused on the droplets
running down his back, dampening the collar of his t-shirt and making him wince
even as he yawned, stretching and placing his arms over the back of the sofa
comfortably and taking in the moving images on the screen absently. Sly wasn’t
saying anything, and when he looked over at him he was curled up small,
magazine put aside and gazing blankly at the screen, not reacting to the
terrible acting or indeed anything else.
He licked his lips carefully, wondering whether to just let him stay until he’d
gotten his fill or whatever it was he’d come for or whether to actually ask
again about his wellbeing, knowing he’d probably be shut down but not entirely
sure he cared. “Sly,” it was tentative, cautious and he regarded the yellow eye
that turned his way nervously, noting with only mild relief that it was
slightly less red now, white less streaked now and swelling of the other going
down. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He just stared at him a moment longer, blinking once and eye scanning over his
face curiously, tracing a drop of water down his forehead and onto his cheek,
nostrils hitching only slightly as his lip twitched. He looked concerned,
really concerned, olive eyes downturned with worry about him, more than there’d
ever been before, watching him almost beseechingly, just wanting him to tell
the fucking truth for once. But damn he wanted to, to for once let himself be a
human like Mizuki had said, to open and up admit that maybe something was
wrong, that he wasn’t feeling like himself and he felt lost and small and
scared in a way he never had before. He felt like some part of him had been
torn away with each pair of hands on him, pinning him down, twisting his arm,
shoving him to the ground and pushing him into the wall so his skin scraped off
in red trails of blood on the dirty brickwork. But his lungs weren’t working
and all the moisture had gone from his mouth, split lip dry and throbbing
constantly, spikes of pain travelling up his spine and fingers pressing hard
into a bruise on his shin.
So he just shook his head, averting his eyes down to Mizuki’s neck, not seeing
his expression falter and his brows crinkle sadly, just hearing the long sigh
he exhaled through his nose and blinking fast, swallowing hard as fear overcame
him. Because he’d gone and done it now, smallest movement of his head right and
left meaning so much, showing weakness he never dared to before, would never
show to anybody. But then, nobody had ever got close enough for him to show
them anything but cold and hard, Mizuki was a fucking weirdo in all rights but
Sly liked him, he was different, and he appreciated that.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” He expected the second head shake that
earned, noticing him curling up smaller, hands growing tighter where they
wrapped around his legs and entire frame tense as if he expected something
horrible, unbearable to happen now he’d finally been honest with him. But he
just smiled softly, because at least he was opening up now, finally, after he’d
been trying for what seemed like months now and honestly had been, nearly a
year in fact since their first meeting. “Okay.”
He breathed his words, accepting quietly that Sly still wouldn’t talk, he’d
admitted enough today, fingers twitching on his skinny legs and breath hitching
hard when the bartenders arm dropped from the back of the sofa over his
shoulder, pulling him into his body. Blinking in alarm because he was hugging
him, no, more like cuddling, head pulled to rest on his shoulder and knees
somehow automatically tucking in neatly next to his legs, frowning slightly,
because what the hell was this supposed to be? Was he trying to comfort him?
Because it wasn’t going to work, he didn’t need comforting because he was fine,
well, he’d just admitted he wasn’t but that hardly mattered. He could cope, he
would cope, like he always did, alone and without the bartenders arm a
worryingly soothing weight on his shoulders. He didn’t like the burning feeling
behind his swollen eye or the way his chest suddenly stung even though all that
was there were bruises, only growing worse as he shifted and inadvertently got
closer, hair tickling the underside of his chin.
He knew if anybody ever found out about this he’d never be taken seriously
again, allowing this one chink in his armor could totally destroy his
reputation and something inside him screamed to run, to break away, to be angry
as he always was, but he just couldn’t. He was finally warm, clean and dressed
in comfortable clothes, he’d slept in an actual bed instead of on a mouldy,
damp mattress on a hard stone floor, his stomach was full and for once he
didn’t want anything. Didn’t feel a need to get high and forget everything for
a while, didn’t feel angry and red hot inside, didn’t want to fight or fuck or
cause trouble, he just wanted to stay still for a while, to bask in this
feeling of being okay, and he wasn’t sure when the last time was he’d felt
anywhere near to being okay.
Mizuki was warm, he was always warm, always slowly defrosting the chunk of ice
in his chest, even if only a little, bringing out smiles and laughs he never
normally showed, didn’t know he was capable of because hell, he was hardly the
jolly type. His heartbeat was slow and steady, a rhythmic thud he could hear
reverberating through his head and although he’d slept well he could almost
feel himself drifting off. Relaxing against his side and deciding he didn’t
give a fuck, he never did anyway, but right now he really didn’t care, he felt
like half of Midorijima could trek into the room and he wouldn’t move a single
inch. For once the bartender was silent and he was glad for that, if he didn’t
speak Sly could pretend, pretend he didn’t feel comfortable here, on the sofa
and tucked carefully under his arm, pretend he was just sat next to a radiator
or some other source of heat.
But oh, nothing could smell as good as this, he was already surrounded by the
scent of the tattooist, clothes hanging loosely and much too large on his slim
body, shampoo used to scrub blood and dirt and knots out of his hair until it
was almost soft. Masculine and musky and tinged with the particular scents he
had come to associate with him, ink and coffee and the faintest trace of
cigarette smoke, a familiar smell that wasn’t blood or damp or his own vomit
after he tripped too hard or took too much.
Now he thought about it, Mizuki was one of the few things in his life that
could even be considered good, possibly the only one, he was the closest thing
to a friend he’d ever had, and that in itself was bizarre. People didn’t want
to be his friend, they either wanted to fuck him or beat the shit out of him,
not to joke with him and ask about his day, his wellbeing as if it actually
mattered how he felt, how he was doing.  As for actually touching him, people
didn’t do that unless it was to leave bruises, most people avoided him like he
had the plague, like even brushing against him would infect them with something
disgusting that would turn them into somebody as vile as him. But the bartender
had no qualms with it even before he’d been able to wash and get clean clothes,
not batting an eyelid when he draped himself over him teasingly or attempted to
molest him in other ways, objecting to the sexual nature of the touches, but
not caring that it was Sly and he was dirty. It was strange, being allowed to
touch, to see something he wanted and to be able to get it, to take it if he
wanted and not receive any repercussions, no beatings or screaming, no blood
drawn and no bruises left behind.
He couldn’t remember the last time somebody had touched him with something
other than anger, wasn’t sure if anybody had ever touched him gently, held him
like this, like he deserved to be comforted as much as anybody else. He didn’t
know if he liked it or hated it when the bartender shifted slightly, fingers
playing absently with his hair as his spine tensed again, not knowing if he
wanted him to get the fuck off or to never stop, nails scratching at his scalp
gently making his lip twitch because damn it felt nice but he knew it
shouldn’t. He was confused, and scared and somehow a little lost, he felt like
he’d lost all control over himself and it made him feel like he was
suffocating, warmth becoming unbearable because shit he was melting and he was
so afraid he’d never be able to freeze again if he let himself.
“Relax,” then Mizuki whispered against his hair and he sucked in a shocked
breath because he was talking and the illusion was shattered and suddenly he
was back, letting the bartender cuddle him without so much as a slap let alone
the black eye he would once have given him. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
He didn’t know why that helped, but it really did and he slowly let his
shoulders lower, breathing slowly and trying to swallow back the uneasy
sickness in his gut because if it didn’t mean anything it was fine. If he could
walk away after this and get back to his old self, if they could continue their
bizarre relationship then it was okay, he could carry on trying to get into his
pants and he could continue refusing. Nothing had to change, not him, not them,
not anything, nothing was being ruined now, nobody was losing their reputation
and nobody was being weak.
His fingers shook as his pale hand curled into his t-shirt slowly, warm over
the tanned muscle and simply resting there silently, yellow eye focused on it,
watching himself touching somebody for once. Not harshly or to defend himself,
not sexually to earn money or drugs or alcohol, not to flirt or tease or try
and worm his way into his bed, just because he could, because he might actually
want to. There was something horribly passive about just sitting next to him
like this, leaning against his side and even with the bartenders arm around his
waist now and his fingers in his shirt, he felt oddly distant though he knew
he’d never been this close to somebody before in his life.
It was almost funny, or it would be if he was in any mood to laugh, he knew if
he’d seen this scene a few weeks ago, even if it had just been suggested to him
he would have laughed til he cried, then probably punched whoever suggested it
for implying he might do something as pathetic as cuddle. But now here he was,
a series of events he was sick of thinking about now and he’d ended up in this
stupid fucking apartment again, drawn here like a magnet even though he didn’t
know why. He came back again and again, approaching Mizuki every time he saw
him even if he had nothing to say, lip twitching up even when he saw only the
back of his head amongst a gang of Dry Juice members.
But the humour faded about ten minutes later and the tension building in his
chest built to unbearable levels, feeling suddenly trapped in the warm
enclosure of his arm and moving away as he should have done immediately, voice
cold when he spoke.
“I have to go,” and of course Mizuki just nodded, offering an almost fond smile
that made the snakes in his stomach writhe, eating the butterflies that tried
vainly to escape and bolting upright, heading instantly for the door. Now
everything had hit him the urge to flee was too strong and staying for even a
minute more made anger bubble up inside him, almost twitching by the door
because his danger levels were at full and they hadn’t been like that since-
Mizuki huffed an amused laugh as he flinched away from the hand that tilted his
chin up, tone firm but warm as he spoke, leaving no space for argument. “You’ll
be fine.”
His mouth twitched up again, because he knew that, he always was after all, not
noticing the bead of blood that escaped from his lip until Mizuki swiped it
away, managing a half smile, “don’t need you to tell me that.”
Then he was gone as soon as he had come, leaving nothing behind but a drop of
blood on Mizuki’s thumb, sweet against his lips and lingering like a kiss.
***** Chapter 9 *****
He didn’t like this. Not even a little bit, not even remotely, not even
ironically. No, he really, really hated this, sniffling wetly as the night set
in and it grew cold, wondering if moving his mattress right into the corner had
been a good idea or not. He felt strangely trapped again and he forced his eyes
open against the dark images that lingered just behind his lids, threatening to
immerse him again in that memory that stopped him keeping food down.
Nothing was working, not the fluid he’d injected into his veins or the pills
he’d swallowed down one-two-three, the bottle of vodka was empty and he just
felt colder inside, burning of his throat fading away all too soon and leaving
him with an empty ache. It seemed almost darker than normal and his last candle
was flickering unnervingly in the chilled breeze that seeped through the holes
in the corrugated iron of the roof, whistling through the cracked window above
his head. He stared at the flame blankly, vision blurring until all he could
see was the faintest movement of orange, darting and dipping like his
heartrate, racing one second then slowing to a dull thud he didn’t want to
feel. He pulled his hoodie round him closer, trying to pretend he’d only
changed into this one because the other one was damp, the scent that clung to
it, not yet obscured by mould and filth had nothing to do with it. He was
warmer this way, arms wrapped around his middle and hood pulled low over his
face so his eyes were almost fully hidden, trying not to make comparisons and
pretending the scent wasn’t helping him feel a little better.
He hurt all over, his stomach burned where the alcohol rested heavily and no
matter how he sat pain shot up his spine, trying to ignore the fierce burn from
his backside because he didn’t want to have to remember it anymore, to think
about it and still be able to feel the laughter in his ears. His warehouse
suddenly didn’t seem as safe as it always had, knowing he lived most of his
life in constant danger had no effect on how suddenly unnerved he felt now,
breath hitching and nostrils flaring at the smallest noise from outside. He
wanted to close his eyes, to block out the thoughts and the sight of where he
was, cold and damp and with his candle about to sputter out, wax spreading
messily across the cracked concrete floor and sticking to his fingertips where
they poked it idly. But whenever his eyes flickered shut even for a second it
all came back, the burning pain and the hands on him, grabbing and tearing and
shoving his face down into the hard floor and his stomach lurched and he jerked
back to reality with a scared gasp that he hated.
He was almost out of cigarettes, one pack completely destroyed by the rain the
week before and now just a useless, soggy pile that splattered against the wall
where he’d angrily thrown them only an hour before, his second to last one
burning down slowly in his fingers. He’d let too many go to waste, lighting
them only to forget and jolt back as they singed his fingers and the sudden
sharp stab of pain brought him back to now, alone and fucking more freaked out
than he’d ever been. A sudden flare of anger overcame him and he threw the
cigarette away because fuck he didn’t even want it, burying his fingers into
blue hair and pretending he couldn’t still feel somebody else’s fingers carding
through it comfortingly. His nails scratched along his scalp and his hair
screamed as he yanked at the roots, trying to rip the thoughts, the memories
right out of his head, digging in harder because he couldn’t let himself think
about it, about the gentle scratching of blunt nails because he shouldn’t have
let it happen.
Shouldn’t be breathing like this, so shaky and broken and almost damp because
fuck his lungs were straining for air and he felt sick to his stomach, trying
not to let the meagre contents of his breakfast spill out even though he
shouldn’t have eaten it in the first place. He shouldn’t have agreed to it, or
to stay, or to any of it. Shouldn’t have gone in the first place.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He knew what had driven him there, it had been another night like this, he’d
spent the entire day again making money in the only way he knew how and his jaw
ached and his throat burned, then he’d gotten back, to his warehouse. Been
greeted by emptiness and cold and the dark that suddenly didn’t feel like his
friend anymore but more an enemy, trying to drag him in with it’s black
fingertips and sharp nails. He was just going for food, for a shower to wash
the blood away and clean himself up because he knew he was torn somewhere he
shouldn’t be, just using him the way he’d been used. Walking there quietly, not
even responding to the cat calls and insults that followed him because each of
them hit him harder than they ever would and the second somebody stepped too
close his heart stopped for a second and his breath stuttered and he almost
fucking ran.
There was a feeling of sick dread in his stomach that he couldn’t understand
because the worst had already happened and what else could go wrong now? It was
like suddenly he couldn’t get there soon enough, telling himself it was because
of locked doors and security and the sheer fact that nobody would ever look for
him there but he knew that wasn’t the truth. But then he was outside and there
was noise from inside the bar, voices of a crowd and suddenly he wished he
never came because he couldn’t face anybody like this didn’t want them to say
anything to him because he didn’t know how he’d react.
His mood wasn’t stable in any sense, one person said something and it was rage
and fists and not caring that he was getting hurt more because he was almost
curious to see how much it would take to kill him now. But then somebody else
sneered and acted superior and he just ignored them because something in his
chest was throbbing painfully and he couldn’t control his expression or the
burning behind his eyes as his throat tightened. He wasn’t himself and he
didn’t like it, didn’t understand how he could have lost all control this fast,
how his emotions were like a fucking rollercoaster because god he just wanted
to get off.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
But then he arrived, and picked the lock with hands that shook so much it took
him triple the normal time and was a damn sight noisier, locking it behind him
almost instantly and taking a second to just breathe and look around, checking
each corner for danger. He could feel his bottom lip jutting out as he
struggled to breathe and knew his eyes were damp even as he looked for him
because now he was here he’d stopped caring, stopped lying. He knew why he was
here, he’d known the first time, but now he’d arrived and the person he needed
was nowhere in sight and he felt so fucking stupid even as he ran a hand over
his face and tried weakly to scowl. But it died quickly as he checked every
room and came back blank as his expression had fallen, because what was the
need to pretend when there was nobody here? He ignored the hot feeling in his
throat and the moisture that rose in his eyes quickly, too quickly, wondering
why he’d chosen now for this to happen, unable to be this open in his
warehouse, had to be closed up and hard even there.
Then there was wetness on his cheeks and his throat was getting thick and when
he tried to breathe only a sob came out and his hand clenched over his mouth
and suddenly his stomach rebelled and he was running to the toilet and throwing
up into the white bowl. He told himself it was just the acid burning his throat
that made his eyes water, trying not to focus on the white that swam in the
bowl because oh god he hadn’t eaten anything that day, filling his time with
customer after customer and the salt on his lips made his legs shake.
He was dirty, all over, he still hadn’t cleaned himself since it happened,
there was blood crusted everywhere and he was sure that wasn’t all it was but
he couldn’t bring himself to think about that, shower suddenly like heaven to
him. He felt weak, like he’d lost blood but then maybe it was just hunger, or
shock, clothes pulled off and flinching because his ribs were black and purple
and rainbow shades of bruising, foot print visible on his back in the whole
wall mirror where he suddenly couldn’t stand to look at himself.
The cold water barely affected him, he couldn’t feel anything anyway, just
noticing his legs shaking worse because the door might be locked and he might
be somewhere safe but he felt sick and seeing his naked body reflected in the
glass just made it worse. His vision was swimming and the next thing he knew
his legs had given in and was on the tile cold floor, water slowly warming and
defrosting his chilled flesh even as he stayed there because he was sick of
getting back up. What did getting back up do for him? Other than get him beaten
and kicked and treated worse than a dog, no, this time he wasn’t sure he ever
wanted to get back up, face pressed against the tile floor and water washing
away the salt on his face, whimpering as it infiltrated his wounds.
It wasn’t often he felt like this, in fact he couldn’t remember ever having
done so before, but he suddenly felt very small, like a child, maybe that was
why he was here, because he knew here he’d be looked after, maybe that was all
he really wanted.
He could feel the shocking fear that had overtaken him slowly seep away as he
washed himself, biting his lip because everything hurt and he felt horribly
unable to cope with it in a way he never had been before, he felt weak and
vulnerable and childish and he didn’t like it.
There was a note outside the door when he left, but he couldn’t bring himself
to read it, because he knew what it would say, stepping over it and expression
hard as he willed his eyes to stop their damn watering already because he was
fine, he was always fucking fine. He was almost angry at him for not being
there, because he knew their usual friendly back and forth would get him back
to normal in minutes.
But he knew if he'd been there, with his worried green eyes and his caring,
warm voice he would have cracked. The tears, the emotion he'd been holding in
would erupt, and damn he knew without a single doubt that he would have thrown
himself into his arms and sobbed.
But now he was left here alone chewing at his nails and trying to work out what
to do, heading into the kitchen and buttering bread with eyes that couldn’t see
past the shine of the steak knives in the drawer he’d left ajar. His jaw worked
by itself, chewing the bread into mush he could hardly stand to choke down,
picking off the crusts til they were just a pile on the coffee table as he
tried to focus on the images on screen, taking in blurry colour and flinching
every time the sound downstairs got harder against his ears. Eyes flitting to
the door as if they might come back to finish him off, to take his last shred
of dignity that he wasn’t sure he’d even had to begin with, but knowing they
couldn’t, they didn’t know he was here, nobody would expect him.
Nobody but Mizuki. Already their distance was making him anxious, to have
arrived without his presence before had always been preferable, but now the
empty rooms and oppressive silence was making his ears whine. The promise of
food and a shower and somewhere safe to be overtaken by the knowledge that he
was lying to himself again, that wasn’t why he’d come here and he’d known it
all along. The company had just been an acceptable perk up until now, but it
was all he wanted this time, hours growing later and sky darker as he didn’t
return and he was still so alone he may as well have stayed in his warehouse.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
But he’d arrived, and of course he had, fingers shaking as he lit his second to
last cigarette and he was stealing again but he never had cared, exhaling smoke
as it went silent downstairs and there were heavy footsteps approaching. His
heart stopped. Then restarted just as fast, beating slow and insistent against
his purpling ribs, not sure if it was reassuring or if it just made him feel
worse that it refused to stop, because God he really wanted it to right now.
He broke the silence because shit he just wanted to hear his voice but the
worry in it made him sick and the bread tried to rise up again, swallowing hard
against the sharp bile that tore at his tongue. There were fingers on his neck
and this was why he had come but they burnt against his skin and he had to move
away, blinking hard because he wouldn’t cry now, couldn’t, he was stronger,
better than that.
He asked, tone soft and fond and fuck and he paused to think even though he
knew his answer long before he even arrived. Soft sheets and warm tones and
blankets to protect and a pillow to hold in shaking hands because Mizuki had
left the room and he wanted him back right now but he couldn’t ask and
sometimes he hated himself for it because how was he meant to get what he
wanted if he wouldn’t ask?
He curled up small, wanting to hide, to disappear into soft sheets that smelled
like olive green and tan skin and warm fingers. But the bed was cold and he
couldn’t warm it up, too iced up inside, leaving frost in his wake, tensed and
so far from relaxed the sheets scrunched up and creased in his vice grip,
hiding his face in the pillow and pretending he couldn’t feel the pain of
screwing his eyes shut against it all.
But it always came back when he didn’t want it to, the fingers he could feel on
his skin were hard now, pressing in and leaving five perfect bruises on each of
his hips that still hadn’t faded days after everything had ended for him. The
silence was unnerving and comforting at the same time, but then everything was
like that now, just being here calmed his racing heart and made it pound harder
all at once and he couldn’t understand what it meant. The pillow was soft
against his cheek but his head roared with thoughts and yellow snapped open
with a gasp and it was as if they were right there with him because he could
feel the sting of his chest as they kicked him down. His scalp stung as his
back was forced up and his face was shoved into the wall, cheek tearing onto
the pillows soft case and leaving red streaks, clothes ripping and he’d come
here so he wouldn’t be alone but now he was and it was happening again and-
Humming. From somewhere in the apartment, floating through the open door where
he could see faint light, breathing stuttering then resuming, slowly uncurling
from the sheets that had become a prison and ears pricking up. He didn’t
recognise the tune, but then he wasn’t much for music, unless he was stoned as
hell in a club, on his knees in the toilets with only the dull vibrations or
their hard grips leaving any lasting mark on him.
Torn lips parted and he caught his breath as he’d had to so many nights,
focusing on the sound, broken and messy, occasional line of lyrics sang in that
deep honey voice, reminding him he was there, just a room away. He knew he
could get up and walk in, curl up on the sofa instead and let the distant sound
of fingers on laptop keys soothe him, but he was defrosting again and the
blanket was warming over him, eyes closing and nothing coming to mind but that
he was safe now. That he was always safe with Mizuki.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
But then the morning came and with it the cold, floor icing up where his
footsteps hit because waking next to him had been too much and he’d had to tear
his eyes away from the tattoo on his cheek and steal more cigarettes instead.
Smoking five, ten, fifteen, to empty his mind til nothing else filled it but
the pain of his lungs and how disgusting the taste was getting as it sank into
stolen clothes. Humming stuck in his head with breathy, thoughtlessly sung
bursts of verse and chorus interspersed, trying to block out the laughter and
mocking with it only for it to break through and make ash drop onto his lap.
Staying though he didn’t know what for, something he couldn’t name or identify
even to himself, even if he didn’t lie for once in his miserable excuse for an
existence, lounging on the couch with a magazine in his fingers. Distracting
himself with glossy pictures and text he could only read some of, characters
squirming and merging into one blob of white he was too exhausted to even try
and understand. A hand behind his head, lazy and casual, everything he didn’t
feel right now, not even able to think up some smart mouthed comment over the
laughter that rang constantly in his ears. Silence again, and he could hear
Mizuki’s breathing, noticed the eyes that flickered to him occasionally,
scanning over his injuries and crinkling up in the corners, see the tongue that
licked over his lips nervously, anticipated the words before they came.
Then the lies, the façade and the false confidence and bravado fell away and oh
fuck he felt so small under his gaze and he couldn’t look at him, staring at
his lap until he was pulled nearer and tears stabbed at his eyes and he refused
to let them fall.
He knew even before he left that he could never go back, because he had fallen
down now and dragging himself back up wasn’t going to happen if he let himself
stick around any longer than he already had. He’d known from the beginning that
this wouldn’t end well but it was all going so much worse than he’d ever
anticipated and when he moved away he knew he’d have to kill the voice that
screamed at him to stay, to be vulnerable. But it was his fault this had all
happened anyway, he’d been weak, if he’d been stronger they would have been
afraid of him instead of it turning out the other way around where he couldn’t
even walk through the streets without flinching and feeling his spine prickle
with terror. No, he couldn’t let himself go back to Mizuki and that warmth and
the hands that touched him with care as if he meant something instead of being
less than worthless.
 
===============================================================================
 
He shivered again, wiping the memory away and reminding himself why he was
here, why he had to deal with the nightmares and the pain and the stinging
tears that he couldn’t fucking control anymore. Biting his lip hard and
ignoring it split for the millionth time because he deserved the pain, he’d let
himself relax and it had fucked him up, it had got him attacked, beaten.  So
he’d stay here in his warehouse, in the nearest thing to a home he had, and he
wouldn’t let himself think of green eyes or calloused skin, damaged knuckles
and that throaty chuckle that resonated in his spine. He’d just wanted a fuck,
and he didn’t need to be his friend to get that, it wasn’t worth the risks he’d
taken and he knew it, so he’d put that idea aside and go back to life before
him, when things had been simple.
Mizuki was everything he couldn’t stand, soft and warm and honest to a fucking
fault, he made him sick, he hated him. Hated the way he treated him, as if he
needed looking after, protecting, when it was his care that had gotten him in
this fucking mess in the first place, when it was his fault he felt so twisted
up inside and so unlike himself. He hated him.
Maybe if he repeated it enough he’d start to believe it.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
But now he’d realised he had to stay away, had to, almost half of the island
was closed off to him, because he knew if he so much as saw Mizuki he’d worm
his way under his skin again and he hated him being there. Couldn’t let anybody
in because if he did they’d make him weak, he’d learned that with his Grandma,
and besides, he couldn’t have any connections or they’d get treated with the
same contempt as him. So he had to find new prey to release his anger on, new
shops to thieve from where they didn’t know him beyond reputation and might
look the other way the first few times to avoid a fight. Ended up in the school
district, unnerved by the looks the children gave him even as their parents
dragged them away, whispering to them the evils of Sly Blue even as he leaned
against a wall and calmly smoked his cigarettes, doing nothing to upset them
but managing it anyway. It was almost impressive.
"Get away from him! He's dangerous."
Yellow eyes flickered up, because this he wouldn't deny, but even he was above
hurting children, despite his intense disliking of them and of everything
childhood entailed, he was already bitter at Mizuki for hanging out in the
better areas, because now he’d exiled himself he had to deal with this, middle
aged mothers and their sniveling brats.
"Dangerous? Me?" Pale fingers clutching a cigarette pointed at a green shirted
chest, blue eyebrows raised in fake surprise. "I think you must have me
confused with someone else."
The woman's head shook, watery blue eyes flitting between the teen and her
young daughter, hate and fear swirling in the orbs. "I know exactly who you
are." Her voice was harsh, a strong contrast to her gently lined face and
motherly, floral clothing.
"Feel free to enlighten me." This was what he'd been reduced to, picking fights
with old women and scaring children for cheap kicks, anything to keep his mind
away from olive green and white teardrops.
"I know what you do, Sly." His name, spat like a curse from a lipsticked mouth
was heaven to his ears, smirk growing exponentially as he extinguished his
cigarette on his arm and earned a horrified gasp. “You’re a monster!”
Something about that hit him all wrong and his expression hardened, because
this had been fun before but this old bitch had ruined his entertainment and
how dare she call him a monster when deep inside she was no better. “What?” He
was scowling by now, expression murderous but the dumb whore had the tenacity,
the idiotic bravery to stand her ground, hiding her child behind her floral
skirt and expression superior as she looked down her nose at him.
“You’re a monster.” She might be trying to seem like the better person to her
daughter, but her voice was trembling and her eyes had gained an ugly sheen of
fear that Sly had no plans to dispel, after all, here was something fun to do.
But that word again, monster, like he was less than human, just some animal
people could kick around for fun and who came begging for scraps. He was no
monster, and he didn’t need the bartender’s bullshit and kind words to know
that. He knew who the real monster was, and it was so fucking far from him that
he wanted to laugh, to laugh as he pushed this woman out of the way and stalked
past, because even he wouldn’t hurt her in front of her daughter, who peered at
him with the kind of innocence only children held.
Instead he lit another cigarette, deliberately exhaling his smoke in her
direction and managing a weak twitch of his lip as she grimaced over
exaggeratedly and coughed pathetically, trying to seem like she didn’t want to
flee as he approached. Stopping right in front of her, eyes stony and mouth set
into a scowl that would set almost anybody else on this island running, glaring
into her shallow blue eyes and using his cigarette to get his point across,
spitting his words like acid into her ugly face.
“Monsters, don’t, exist.” But he knew she didn’t understand even as he spoke,
moving away suddenly and clutching her daughter to her side, the girl who had
just been curious, who he wouldn’t have hurt anyway, now warped by her own
mother into hating him when he had been doing nothing wrong. When he was never
doing anything wrong.
But nobody had ever seen the unfairness of that except Mizuki, but he had
gotten in too deep and he couldn’t go back, he could never go back, couldn’t
risk it because something about him had infiltrated into his deepest emotions
and he hated showing anything but anger because he had every fucking right to
be angry. Yanking his headphones on and turning them up high, music blasting
into his head, rattling his skull and shaking his bones, just the way he liked
it, drowning out everybody else, the random man who had seen him with the old
hag and was now yelling obscenities at him like he’d been attacking her.
But that was nothing out of the ordinary, ignoring the fact he could hear them
over his music and scrambling messily up a broken fence panel, disappearing
onto the rooftops where he was alone but the birds, and watching from above,
waiting til it got dark and he could go to work, where he’d be in his element.
Where the real monsters came out.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Something about his warehouse, about the island was suffocating now. Though he
wasn’t sure what. Something in the air maybe? In the confining restriction of
those four, familiar walls, battered and decorated with his dark scrawls and
the occasional splash of blood where something had gone wrong for him, or for
someone else. Something trapping in the fact that he know every street and
walkway, every alley and building. In that he recognized the people, the shops,
the way he knew which areas he’d find a fair fight in, and which ones he could
go to for a beating. When he recognized the tag signs, and which gangs to stay
away from, and knew where it’s easiest to steal a meal from.
Something was creating a constricting band around his lungs and a lump in his
throat that he couldn’t get rid of even with a million stolen cigarettes and so
many drugs he was amazed his heart kept beating. Somehow, being here didn’t
feel as much like being home as it used to. He supposed he didn’t really have a
home anymore, not here in his warehouse, but somehow not back with his Grandma
or at Mizuki’s bar either, trapped in between the three. He used to look
forward to going to the bar, to banter and joke with the bartender and leaving
his warehouse safely locked behind him. Then he’d arrive, and for a few moments
he’d feel almost comfortable, everything was safe and warm and accepting. But
it smothered him soon enough, Mizuki always did have the nasty habit of doing
that, of stealing the air from his lungs and leaving him with a feeling like
drowning.
The same people surrounding him and the same monotonous routine, nothing new to
see and nowhere to discover, it was almost driving him insane, throwing himself
into Rhyme and fights and stealing more brazenly, crawling home most nights
beaten and with ribs he was certain were at least cracked. Laughing as he lay
on his damp mattress, because the pain in his side reminded him he was still
alive, and god damn it all he planned on staying that way if only to piss
people off with his existence.
But the bartender was under his skin and he had to get him out, fresh veins
harder to find every day and jaw constantly aching under the strain of having
to work for the drugs he needed now, the ones he injected into blue paths that
streaked around his body. The drugs that finally wiped his mind clean until he
awoke the next day and had to start it all over again.
But he was making everything worse, and he knew that even as he did it, knowing
his reputation was getting worse with every day he spent by himself, because he
could manage by himself, he always had before, so he could now. He couldn’t go
back ever, could never set his eyes on that tanned skin or the bar where he’d
been allowed to sleep, he didn’t deserve the softness or concern, surrounding
himself with hate instead and letting it soak into him until he was harder than
ever before.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
But then he heard whispers, everywhere around him people were talking,
Christmas was near and it was almost a year since he had seen the bartender but
Dry Juice were expanding their turf and he knew soon there would be nowhere he
would be safe from that soft green. Trying to pretend he didn’t hear the people
talking, that he didn’t see the new tag art springing up in the grounds he had
made his own, horribly close to his warehouse and his hunting grounds, harder
now than ever to get customers. He’d hardened in the last year, gotten tougher,
stronger, better at fighting, his reputation was at an all-time low but God he
yearned for some real fun, where he could use his words instead of his fists
for once. What better place than Dry Juice?
It was easy, amusingly easy, to track their members, leaping across the
rooftops and ignoring a bad landing or a scrape of his hand as he scrambled to
keep his balance, tracking their movements and following the routes they took
on their rounds. He had them memorized within a week, but their leader was
nowhere to be seen, not with them when they gathered in their usual spot by the
stairs and scrapped for fun, not when they all went to a restaurant for what
seemed like somebody’s birthday and left horribly drunk. He was nowhere to be
seen, and Sly was getting curious, getting nearer to the bar every day and
finally catching a glimpse of him late at night, locking the bar and smoking a
single cigarette, shoulders heavy with tiredness and eyes flitting around as if
looking for something.
 
Then he got braver, sneaking into the bar itself one night after seeing all the
members slowly trickle their way in, knowing he could sell the information he
gained to some low down Rib team with a grudge, Bug Bomb maybe. Pretending he
wasn’t just trying to satiate his own curiosity as he crouched down behind the
door to the bathrooms, having climbed in through the window easily, ears
pricked up. Heard talk of death and some kind of memorial, something that
sounded almost like crying and he nearly laughed at that, because what a weak
thing to do, especially for a tough member of Dry Juice. Got bored quickly and
snuck out, lingering in the shadows of the bar as they left again in morose
silence and heard talk of heaven and better places and sneered.
He’d seen Hell. Stared it right in the face. He didn’t even have to die. He
doubted the Hell of the afterlife could be any worse than the Hell of the life
he lived.
He’d seen its flames, red raw and licking hungrily against the eyes of the men
who ran hands over his body and pressed him into alley walls. Heard it in their
grunts and felt its searing burn through his tortured flesh.
It was constant. Once you’d fallen far enough there was no climbing out. Try as
he may, with bleeding, torn off nails and red-raw flesh, pulling and clawing at
the walls, slippery with blood and ringing loud with despairing screams and
cries of regret that came too late.
The Hell of the afterlife would surely be a blessed relief compared to the Hell
of his existence. He sometimes imagined it with fondness, he’d be right at home
amongst the tortured souls, pierced with red hot spears and forced to walk
forever on shards of razor-sharp broken glass. He liked the impossible tasks
he’d learnt in school, that brief period where he’d actually attended before
everything turned to shit and he realised he had to look after himself. Laughed
aloud at the man who every day pushed a huge boulder to the top of a cliff,
only for it to roll back down just as it seemed about to topple off and end his
misery. Liked the sadistic streak of whoever had thought that up. The Greek
tale too, of the man who stole fire from the Gods and gave it to man, left tied
to a rock, liver pecked out every day by an eagle only to grow back overnight
so the same cycle could repeat every day. He liked the sound of that. He
guessed he was just a masochist.
 
But the Heaven they were speaking of? He’d never seen that, not even a glimpse.
He doubted it was even real, but Hell? He believed in that 100%. Heaven was for
people too weak to accept they deserved eternal punishment for their crimes in
this life. He liked to think of himself as judge, jury and executioner. Mainly
executioner though.
He had no doubts that he’d sent several people straight to Hell. The gushing’s
of blood and the light leaving their eyes as they began their downward plummet
to the pit where they’d spent the rest of time wishing they’d got their blade
in first.
He found himself almost looking forward to it. What could be more pleasing than
being somewhere everyone was in the same situation as him? Where everyone else
hated everything around them, grew bitter and cold, eventually becoming almost
numb to even the most traumatic experiences as he himself had long ago.
It was so much easier to just not have emotions. To remain a blank, empty shell
of a person. Not numb, because somebody numb has emotions they just can’t feel
them. It takes a special kind of skill to just be totally unfeeling, to get to
the stage where a relatives tears mean nothing, where a horrific injury on your
own skin just makes you raise an eyebrow.
So their tasteful ceremony, their Heaven meant less than nothing to them, and
what better way to get kicks than to show up uninvited to the lovely event? He
was rather looking forward to it.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It had been a year before he even registered it, a year of the team recovering
and mourning in their own ways, a year of the scar on his stomach stitching
together and finally healing, a year, without Yasu. He’d been trying not to
think on it much, but as the day grew closer it occupied his mind more, and
with nothing else to distract him, he began to feel increasingly depressed
about it all, eventually seeking out Tio for some kind of advice.
“Hey Tio, you know it’s nearly the anniversary, do you think we should do
something?” Just letting the day pass by without some kind of event seemed
wrong to him, but he had no idea what to recommend, he wasn’t the type to give
long speeches, and since he still felt partially implicated for his death, he
didn’t imagine he’d be the right person to do it anyway.
Tio’s expression creased up in confusion for a moment, taking a drink from his
beer and crossing his legs on the sofa, then realisation set in and he frowned
slightly, eyes downturned, “For Yasu?” Mizuki just nodded, trying to ignore the
pang of hurt that struck him whenever he heard the name, which was very little
these days, most of the team having managed to move on in a way he just
couldn’t seem to. “Hm, it’s a nice idea, but what?”
“That’s the thing, I just don’t know.” They had to do something, he knew that,
to honour his memory and express that they hadn’t forgotten about him, about
his sacrifice, involuntary though it had been.
“Want me to ask the team? I’m sure one of them will suggest something good.”
It was a nice gesture, to offer to take it on his own back when it was hardly a
pleasant thing to have to do, but he shook his head, he knew he had to do it,
as the team’s leader he had to be there even when things got uncomfortable.
“I’ll do it, tomorrow at the meeting.”
“Okay,” it looked like he was going to leave it there, but he opened and closed
his mouth again, looking troubled as his fingers traced the rim of his bottle
absently. “You know nobody blamed you, right?”
“I know, just me.” They left it there, because nothing anybody could say would
remove any of the guilt from him, he knew he’d fucked up even if nobody else
would blame him, the scar on his stomach a reminder every day of the mistakes
he had made that led them to this, a year later and still blaming himself. He
absently wondered what Sly would say if he could see him now, still mourning,
still locked up in his own grief, but he pushed that thought to the back of his
mind as he did all thoughts of him these days. He wasn’t sure when it was he’d
last seen him, the days blended into one but he knew it had been months, maybe
four, maybe six, he didn’t know why he had disappeared, felt almost bitter that
the moment he felt he understood Sly even little he ran, but he supposed that
was what he did. He still heard of him of course, tales of him stealing and
getting into fights always a good source of gossip amongst his team and the
islands population as a whole, so he knew he was still around somewhere living
his life, Mizuki was just rather angry he’d been cut out of it.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“So, does anybody have any suggestions?”
There was silence, the mood had turned from jovial to sombre, people, friends
who hadn’t seen each other for weeks, since long before Christmas, now having
to cut conversations short and suddenly be reminded of something that may have
not even been on their minds.
“It can be anything, it just seems right to do something, to honour his
memory.”
There were nods and he knew they agreed without him even saying it, newer
members looking mildly confused but quickly being filled in by their friends or
working it out for themselves, expressions turning a combination of sad and
surprised.
“Um,” the voice was quiet and Mizuki barely registered it at first, only
hearing it because of the oppressive silence that had spread across the bar,
surprised to see Michi as the speaker, especially since he’d only become an
official member a month ago and his tattoo was still healing. “There’s
something we always do for my Grandfather…”
He trailed off, maybe uncomfortable at suggesting something for somebody he’d
never met, never even knew existed until a couple of seconds ago, but Mizuki
nodded, because hell he’d take anything right now. “Um, we set off lanterns,
like paper lanterns. We write messages in them sometimes, then wait til its
dark and let them go, at the beach normally. It’s just, um, they’re quite
pretty and stuff…” He squirmed a little, but some of the others were nodding
thoughtfully, as if envisioning it, the pitch dark sky filled with the
lanterns, pinpoints of bright orange flame that would float off over the sea
and eventually disappear from sight.
Mizuki turned minutely to see Tio, who was nodding, expression oddly impressed,
and he had to admit he agreed, the idea was a nice one, really nice, “okay, so
that’s one idea, anybody else?”
Now one person had spoken, others seemed willing too, ranging from the same
idea but with helium balloons, to just having a casual drink where they could
talk about him and reminisce, to getting some kind of plaque put up in his
memory, or maybe planting a tree.
In the end, a quick vote led to the balloon and lantern ideas being the most
favoured, and a second vote had the paper lantern idea winning almost
unanimously, something Mizuki was glad of, because while the balloons would no
doubt work well, there was something about how fast they would disappear that
he didn’t like.
“Okay, so paper lanterns. Michi, can you hook us up with the supplies?” He
nodded, seeming excited but surprised that his idea had been chosen, and
knowing Mizuki would reimburse him for any expense there’d be. “Awesome, so
everyone meet here on the day at say… Six? Then we can write messages or
decorate them if we want, then make our way down to the lake.”
The lake had been Shin’s idea, and as Yasu’s best friend, it had been
universally agreed that he’d know best where their informal ceremony should be
held, briefly explaining that the small lake had been his favourite place to
walk his much loved dog, saying with an almost shaky voice that he’d like it to
be there. Watching the hands that came silently to rest on his shoulders as he
spoke filled Mizuki’s chest with warmth, because as always his team was the
best group of people he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, they had become
pillars of support for each other that he never could have imagined.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It was cold the day of the ceremony, ice had covered the ground overnight and
they had to delay everything by half an hour to account for the longer journey
times, at least two guys showing up with bruises where they’d slipped on a
patch and tumbled to the hard ground. But still, they were all there, wrapped
up in big coats and scarves and with beanies pulled low on their heads, giving
sighs of relief when they entered the toasty bar, heating cranked up to full.
Michi had done his job with the lanterns and thirty of them lay neatly on the
floor of the bar, he’d bought candles for them too and permanent markers so
they could write their messages on the white paper before they sent them
skyward. They were all finally assembled and Tio and a couple of other guys had
taken it upon themselves to make and hand out hot drinks, people holding
steaming mugs in cold hands or sharing, because Mizuki really didn’t own that
many mugs.
“Okay guys, we all know why we’re here, to honour Yasu’s memory, to remember
his life and to celebrate him. Michi’s got everything we need, and I think
there’s enough lanterns for a couple of you to have one each, but a most of you
will have to share.” He looked to Michi for confirmation and he nodded quickly,
nibbling his lip nervously in the heavy atmosphere, “okay, so you don’t have to
write on them if you don’t want to, it’s completely up to you. So, um, let’s
start, I guess.”
Nobody commented on his words trailing off, knowing how hard it was for him to
be doing this in the first place, and Tio’s hand coming to squeeze his shoulder
as the guys began their task, picking up lanterns until they all ran out and
forming pairs easily, pens held in nervous fingers and eyes sad as they
wondered what on earth to write.
“Come on, Mizu, they left us one,” he hadn’t even noticed that somebody had
placed a lantern and a black pen on the bar behind them, turning to see it and
feeling the dread in his stomach building because he had no right to say
anything to Yasu when he had let him die. But Tio had a hand on his elbow as he
led him to a spare table, sitting down and taking the pen himself, pausing to
think for only  a few seconds before writing his message, turning the lantern
over and pushing it over to Mizuki.
His heart had stilled in his chest as he looked around the bar, anything to
distract him from the fact that he’d have to write something, not only to set
an example but also to try and externalise some of the grief that was heavier
than ever today. He glanced around, taking in the solemn faces of his family
and feeling horrible that he had caused this, he was the reason Shin was
staring at his lantern with his pen shaking in his hand and a horribly blank
expression. He was the reason everybody looked so sad and mournful, he was the
reason they were down a friend, the reason they were doing this was because he
hadn’t tried hard enough, and it was his fault.
“I don’t know what to put,” he admitted softly, seemingly mirroring the feeling
of several of them, holding pens awkwardly and trying to peer at other people’s
messages, Michi looked beyond lost, having never met Yasu, but even he managed
to write something.
“Just put what you feel,” Tio shrugged, but his voice was gentle and he was all
too aware of how hard this was for Mizuki, knowing he still blamed himself even
now a year later and wishing he could somehow instil in him how wrong he was.
“What do you want to say to him?”
“That I’m sorry,” he hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t intended on vocalising it,
he hated that everybody in this room wouldn’t blame him, would say he had
nothing to do with it, would blame the guy who killed him rather than the one
who failed to protect him.
But Tio had seemingly had enough of his moping over this, yanking the pen out
of his hand with a stern frown, “I’m not letting you write that.”
“Why? It’s true,” he frowned, not appreciating Tio’s attempts to help
“Because you have nothing to be sorry for, Mizuki. None of us do, we couldn’t
have stopped it, you tried, okay, that’s what matters.” His hand was insistent
on his shoulder, and something in his eyes was honest, it almost made Mizuki
believe his words for a second, realising in that instant what he should write.
“Okay, give me the pen,” Tio didn’t look convinced, but he handed it over
anyway, just sighing sadly as he saw what the bartender had written in neat
letters and resigning himself to the possibility that Mizuki would never quite
forgive himself for this. Taking the lantern off the table and looking round to
see how everybody else was getting on, taking in Shin’s still expressionless
face and the nervous atmosphere of everybody else.
“Are we all ready to go?” He asked, and the various nods and noises of assent
that trickled in were less than soothing, at least two pairs of eyes on Mizuki
as if wondering why he had let Tio take charge but not asking, knowing better
than that.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It was quiet on the way, there were light mumbles of conversation and somebody
was trying to keep Shin together with minimal success, occasional sniffle
leaving him because this was more like a funeral than a wake. The few people on
the streets parted in their presence, clearing space for them to walk through
the streets like a morbid procession, taking in the lanterns in their hands and
offering respectful nods, horribly solemn as if they too knew what was
happening. It was all Mizuki could do to nod back, unable to meet their eyes as
if they would lock and somehow his guilt would be known to all, as if they
would know what he had done, what he had failed to do. Tio was close by his
side and the team pressed in all around him and behind, filling the narrow
streets, but he didn’t feel comforted much by it, almost wishing they weren’t
there, because he was sick of trying to be the perfect leader when he’d already
fucked up so bad.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The lakeside was silent and serene, the moon was just beginning to rise and
Mizuki was glad he’d at least timed it well, white light gleaming on the
surface of the still water and the trees surrounding them rustled by the cold
breeze. There was a mess of buildings to one side, all abandoned and in a state
of disrepair, windows smashed and moss growing up their walls to curl into the
holes where bricks had been. It was nice, and Mizuki understood why Shin had
recommended it, it was the perfect place to say goodbye, or honour his memory,
or whatever the hell this was meant to be, feeling like he’d forgotten even as
he watched Michi hand out candles and matches to those who didn’t have lighters
of their own.
They worked in near silence, offering soft words to those of them who were most
upset, carefully unfolding the delicate paper marred with their messages of
regret or sorrow or loneliness, placing the small tealights into the slots at
the bottom.
Mizuki supposed he should give a speech, just silently helping Tio unfold their
lantern, paper crinkling worryingly and needing rather more delicate treatment
than he’d expected, noticing Tio’s mouth open then close more than once, as if
he wanted to say something. But what could he say? Yasu was dead after all,
that was why they were here, preparing for the ceremony in the near darkness
with breath puffing out into clouds of smoke.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He didn’t know who noticed him first, he just heard the mutters, the vague
sounds of dissent that broke through the quiet, almost reverential atmosphere
they’d created, people’s faces looking away from the lanterns they were setting
up and eyes turning cold and hard. But he couldn’t see anything out of the
ordinary, glancing around the trees and collapsing buildings that sat in the
small clearing where the lake and trees lay, a quiet paradise on this bustling
island.
Then Tio was at his side and his scowl was so out of place that Mizuki blinked
in surprise, because he looked honestly murderous and he could feel the air
bristling with indignation as if something horrible had just happened.
“He just can’t keep his shitty nose out of our business for one fucking day,”
Tio swore sometimes, they all did, but never with so much vehemence, normally
it was joking, laughing as Mizuki teased him and telling him to fuck off, or
remarking that something was shit. Never normally with this much anger lacing
every word, spitting them with such annoyance that Mizuki knew instantly who he
was talking about, because who else was so hated?
“Oh fucking hell,” he muttered as he followed the eye line of his group, green
locking with yellow, almost gold in the dim light and just sighing
exasperatedly as the cause of their anger jumped down from the building on
which he perched casually. He was already approaching as Mizuki turned to Tio,
lowering his voice and trying to pretend he couldn’t feel his fingers twitching
irritably. “Tell them to carry on, I’ll get rid of him.”
It looked like he wanted to object, but he just nodded once and headed back off
to the main group as Mizuki walked a little way to greet Sly, noticing the
confident swagger of his walk and the relaxed way he smoked his cigarette as he
strolled over.
“Finally crawled back, huh?” He asked, voice colder than he’d expected and
realising Tio wasn’t quite out of earshot as he turned to stare at them for a
second, blue eyes narrowed because he’d been suspecting something for a while
now.
“What can I say,” he smirked, taking a final drag of his cigarette and crushing
it deliberately thoroughly under his heel before lighting another, packet
crumpled and white tube bent out of shape. “You’re too much fun for me to stay
away from.”
He snorted derisively at that, because whatever ‘fun’ Sly wanted wasn’t the
kind Mizuki was thinking of, feeling slightly disturbed under his intense look,
yellow eyes lingering over his face and body as if trying to remember what he
looked like after so long away. Not to mention that if Sly didn’t consider a
year a long time then he obviously had a completely different scale to Mizuki,
who considered him to have completely abandoned his efforts to fuck him.
“I’m flattered,” but his voice was flat and blank, there was no teasing now, he
was already not exactly having the best day, memory of Yasu’s death horribly
fresh in all their minds and guilt heavy in his chest, without Sly turning up
to cause shit. “So what do you want?”
Sly’s eyebrow raised as if Mizuki had no right to be so rude to him, eyes
narrowing as he lingered in the shadows of the trees, face distorted and hidden
from the bartenders eyes, only occasionally illuminated by the light of his
cigarette. “Got bored.” He looked away from Mizuki, taking in the men behind
him, still trying to set up for the ceremony while keeping a close eye on the
talking pair, scowling and hating him more than ever. “What the fuck are you
doing?”
“Paying our respects,” he answered shortly, because he already knew about
Yasu’s death, and while he didn’t know that the anniversary was today, surely
he knew that this was important to them, hopefully he might get the message for
once and just fuck off.
He took another drag of his cigarette, raising one eyebrow as if questioning
the seriousness of Mizuki’s words, exhaling long into the air, trail of smoke
disappearing into the air before it reached the bartender. “Oh,” he remarked
shortly, not sounding at all bothered or apologetic, but then what had he
expected? “Well I don’t have any of that, so…”
He’d lifted a shoulder as if apologising silently, but Mizuki knew he wasn’t
remotely sorry, he’d probably come here deliberately to get a rise out of them,
he knew exactly what they were here for and why, and he’d decided it would be a
good laugh to try and annoy them. He might know the other, softer side of Sly,
but he knew he was still a prick, through and through, proved by the arrogant
expression on his face, as if he was better than everybody there.
“So fuck off,” he didn’t care that his tone was cruel, or that he and Sly had
some kind of friendship once, he’d left that to rot when he’d disappeared for
months on end with no sign or explanation for his absence.
“Don’t think I will, thanks,” his voice was biting, stony, and Mizuki knew that
he was doing this on purpose, being obstinate to get him angry, because that
was what he wanted, what he enjoyed. He didn’t piss people off because he was a
shitty person, although he was that too, he did it deliberately because he
liked being the centre of attention, even if it wasn’t the kind of attention
any sane human would want. “Haven’t had any entertainment in a while.”
“And whose fault is that?”
He just stared at him for a second, as if trying to work out if he was really
that stupid, exhaling a breathy laugh a second later and smirk softening
remotely, “yours, if you’d just fucked me I wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, well I apologise then,” his voice was sarcastic but he could hear his
resolve fading and cursed himself for letting Sly get under his skin again so
easily, already feeling their usual banter filtering back into the
conversation.
“Hm, I forgive you,” his smile said he knew the bartender had caught on to what
he was doing, stepping forwards and into the light, no longer hidden by shadows
and ignoring the growing mutters of Dry Juice as he approached their leader
with such confidence. Cocky and arrogant enough to step into his person space,
to smile seductively up at him and walk his fingers up his chest. “I’m sure you
could make it up to me.”
“Don’t think I will, thanks,” he echoed his words back at him, slapping his
hand away and glaring, too focused on the offending digits to take in the fact
that his face was in full view now, bare and illuminated by the growing
moonlight.
His breath caught in his throat, because for once his face was naked of bruises
and grazes and damage, skin pale white and nearly shining, yellow eyes almost
pretty even as they narrowed at him, watching him stare and raising a blue
eyebrow into his hair which looked clean and well looked after for once. Fuck,
he was actually more than a little beautiful and Mizuki wondered how he’d never
noticed it before, blaming the flattering lighting and the fact that he’d never
truly seen his face before, watching as his expression faltered uncomfortably.
Then he snapped out of it, surprised expression gone as if it had never existed
and glaring because fuck he already knew he was done for as he stared at Sly’s
soft pink lips a second longer than was acceptable. “Just fuck off, Sly. We’re
busy.”
“Hm, this is what you call busy? No wonder you’re the most boring team on the
island,” he’d raised his voice deliberately and Mizuki shot him a disbelieving
eyebrow, because if he wanted the shit beaten out of him he was off to a good
start, aware of Tio at his side seconds later and knowing the rest of them had
headed over. He might have said he’d get rid of him, but he was a persistent
little shit if nothing else, and he never made anything easy.
“Mizuki, tell me we can beat the shit out of him,” he didn’t recognise the
voice that came from somewhere behind him, and if he didn’t know exactly why
Sly was doing this, he’d probably beat him up himself.
Sly’s laugh was dark and the eyes of the entire team were on him, Mizuki’s
warning, saying he wouldn’t stop his guys from doing whatever they wanted, but
Sly just smirked at him cockily as he opened his mouth. “Oh please, as if you’d
dare.”
His voice was condescending and the ripple of anger that spread through the
assembled men didn’t bypass Mizuki this time, sick of his attitude and his fuck
everything personality and the way he just somehow managed to be here, as if it
was a coincidence.
Kiko was the first to step forwards, and his intimidating height of over six
foot didn’t even vaguely bother Sly, who just eyed him calmly, as if
disappointed this was the best they could do, “come on then, or are you scared
you’ll lose?”
He’d always been quick to snap, either in turf wars or just in arguments,
always the first to start a fight or throw something more than words, and
Mizuki’s arm snapped out to stop him before he could register it.
“Leave him! He’s not worth it,” his voice was hard and he was suddenly aware
that he was angry at Sly for more than  just crashing their ceremony, he was
angry because he had wormed his way into his life, made him worry then fucked
off for months only to reappear now, at the most inopportune time possible. He
had made the bartender warm to him, to see him almost as a friend, and then he
had left without so much as a reason, had faded from his life so much that he
hadn’t even seen him in months. He didn’t even know where he was, and his
expression was firm as he tried not to straight up glare at him for using him
like that, because that was how he felt now, used. “We’re here for Yasu,
remember?”
“Oh, that dead guy? Seems a bit pointless,” Sly remarked absently, picking at
his nails as if he hadn’t just disrespected his memory in front of his friends,
ducking the guy that swung for him easily and grinning like he was finally
having fun.
He’d finally decided it was time to interfere in his life again, and of course
he’d immediately turn back to the asshole persona that Mizuki knew was all a
big lie to hide who he really was, already acting like a cunt and making his
entire team bristle with indignation. His anger was real this time, not faked
as it always had been before, because of all the times for him to show up this
was the most terrible one, and what made it worse was that some part of him
knew he’d done it on purpose. “Just fuck off Sly.”
“I remember when you used to be fun,” his statement might be innocent enough,
spoken with boredom, as if this whole event was really very tiresome, as if he
hadn’t deliberately crashed it, but Mizuki could see Tio’s eyes on him and
everything he overheard just cemented his belief that they knew each other
better than they let on.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tio asked, and all Mizuki could do was pray
that Sly’s smirk didn’t mean he was about to reveal everything, to loudly
announce that he’d been hanging around the bartender for a while, that he fed
and clothed him and let him shower in his apartment. Knowing Sly he wouldn’t
even have any qualms admitting that he’d sucked his dick once either, and he
probably wouldn’t say that he’d gotten him drunk and stupidly high first,
because he’d want to cause as much damage as possibly.
All he could do was answer before he got a chance, speaking just as Sly’s lips
parted and his yellow eyes glimmered nastily. “He used to come drink at the bar
sometimes, must have liked me,” he made it sound mocking, as if he was
disgusted at the mere idea that somebody like Sly might like him and Sly’s lip
twitched up at the side in the way he recognised all too well.
He just snorted, hiding the genuine emotion instantly, “you wish, Dry Juice.”
“Trust me, I really don’t. Now fuck off before I let my guys beat the shit out
of you.” They both knew that was a lie, he’d never let them do that, he never
had before and nothing had changed now, he knew deep inside his chest that he’d
let Sly worm his way back in so easily it would be as if nothing had changed.
Maybe he was just weak, or maybe he was too kind for his own good, but he knew
he’d never forgive himself if he got Sly hurt, even if he might seem to deserve
it, he knew he only acted like that to hide himself from the kind of pain he
couldn’t stand, pain fists just couldn’t give.
“Whatever, you’re boring me anyway,” he shrugged, biting his lip teasingly as
he began sauntering off, running a teasing finger across the leather of his
jacket and smirk seductive. “See you around, Mi-zu-ki.” He just laughed again
as the team growled as one, not appreciating the casual way he addressed their
leader, as if he had any right to call him by his name and so seductively too,
enunciating every syllable so it dripped off his tongue like honey, let alone
his sheer bravery in actually touching him like that.
“He makes me feel a bit sick,” Tio murmured as the team’s anger persisted but
began to bubble gently instead of boiling and hissing over like before,
watching as the blue haired boy headed off, nimbly jumping and scrambling his
way atop a small building, before disappearing into the maze of rooftops.
“Yeah, me too,” his voice was too soft as he finally turned his eyes away,
catching one last glimpse of yellow, almost cat like eyes staring at him from
the rooftop, getting one last look maybe, or mocking him from afar. Who knew
how many times he might have done that before now, hidden far above on a
building and watched him go about his life, it was almost unnerving to realise
how easily he could have done that. Maybe that was how he’d known about today,
he could easily have broken into the bar and listened into their group
meetings, or just followed one of the members and gathered from their
conversation what was going to happen. But maybe that was just wishful, or
paranoid thinking, maybe Sly really had grown bored of him and that was why
he’d fucked off for so long, maybe he’d just been strolling past and seen them
and decided to cause trouble, maybe Mizuki had nothing to do with it.
He knew even as he turned back to his team, trying to calm them down and remind
them that they were here for Yasu, and that they shouldn’t let an asshole like
Sly ruin this, because this was important, it was important that they respect
his memory, that Tio knew something. He kept sensing the blue eyes on him at
different times, meeting his eye once or twice as he set up the lanterns and
offering a smile that wasn’t returned, just earning a confused look that soon
faded as something, someone else caught his attention and he had to turn away.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“Shin, you knew him best, do you want to start?” His voice was warm and
comforting, taking in Shin’s wobbling bottom lip and the dampness of his eyes,
not having let any tears fall yet but knowing they were only seconds away.
“Mm,” he nodded, trying to offer a smile but not managing it, just taking a
deep breath and stepping forwards, away from the group so he was silhouetted
against the lake, gentle orange light from the lanterns yet to be released
bathing him in pastel tones.
Silence fell, and this time it was peaceful, everybody thinking of Yasu,
remembering what had made him such an awesome person and a valued member of
their group, trying to focus on his life instead of his death. All eyes were on
Shin, sympathetic and loyal and loving as they always were, watching as he
paused just before the jetty, feet firm on the icy grass and breath misting out
in front of him.
Nobody spoke as he lifted the lantern in front of his face, already filled with
hot air and wanting to be released into the sky, white almost entirely covered
in tiny inked characters, black ink pristine and fingers firm on it now. The
stillness was almost heavy as he held the lantern carefully, planting a kiss
onto the side and whispering something into the paper that was hidden under a
sudden breeze that rustled the trees and sent a chilling wind through them all.
Then he let it go, and it floated up fast, a single point of soft orange light
in the night sky, travelling up to meet the stars.
When he stepped back he was crying, not bothering to wipe his cheeks as he sank
down onto the frosty ground, watching as the others slowly let their lanterns
go too, joining the first in a beautiful dance in the skies, lightly buffeted
by the breeze and lingering against the black. Comfort coming to him fast,
others joining him on the ground, an arm round his shoulder, a hand on his
knee, fingers tangling with his, never letting somebody be alone with their
grief, more tears now, on other faces, falling silently.
It was warming, to see them stood or sat in their little huddles, such a strong
group, nobody left to stand alone, Tio offering Mizuki the smallest of smiles
as they released their grip on the lantern they held between them, the last ray
of light rising heavenward. But there were no tears on Mizuki’s face, just a
strange sense of peace amongst the emptiness, because after all it was right
there, written neatly, ‘I tried.’
They stood there in silence, watching them travel off across the lake,
reflections glimmering on the water where Yasu had so loved to walk, Tio’s form
a strong pillar beside him, hearing his thick swallow and reaching across to
join their hands easily. The squeeze back was weak and moisture glistened in
his blue eyes, but Mizuki couldn’t tear his eyes away from his team, own chest
beginning to hurt as he watched them band together through this, strong despite
everything they’d been through.
He might be their leader, the one who was meant to be strong and powerful and
always know the right thing to do, but he’d be nothing without them and he knew
it more than ever now, together, united as a team, they were stronger than he
could ever be alone, and somehow that hurt.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He couldn’t speak as the lanterns finally bobbed out of sight, to soar over the
island or maybe even to reach the mainland, to travel far away from their
sorrow with their messages of love and support and friendship that even death
couldn’t taint. He watched as the team began to stand, stretching out cold
limbs and looking a lot more collected than they had before, Shin managing a
weak, wobbly smile even as his cheeks remained streaked with tears. He knew
there was a wake of sorts planned for after this, to have drinks and reminisce
after the more formal ceremony, but Mizuki’s soul was heavy and he didn’t think
he wanted to be around his team when he wasn’t sure he was what was best for
them anymore.
The walk out of the forested area was far more pleasant than the journey in,
still sticking close together to offer support to those this was hardest for,
managing half smiles and weak laughs as they emerged back onto the brightly lit
streets again. There were still lanterns in the sky here, the occasional orange
dot gleaming vividly above the ugly streets on which they parted, last hugs and
pats on the back offered, words of support and comradery shared.
Then they were all but gone, Shin accompanied home by Kouhaku and Yuu with the
promise that they’d look after him, Mizuki trusting their words inherently and
trying to think of something to say even as they walked away, understanding his
silence. Leaving him and Tio in the air that had dropped below freezing hours
ago, finally able to heave out the sigh he’d been holding in for hours, knowing
Tio would sympathise.
“You okay?”
“Mm, I just want to go home now, I feel like I could sleep forever,” he tried
to laugh but it came out too breathy and the cold hurt his throat as it caught
there messily, breaking into pieces and dying.
“I know what you mean,” his smile was genuine, always good at bouncing back in
hardship and staying positive through so much, things that would topple other
people. “It went great, Mizuki, he would have liked it.”
“Yeah,” his answer was short but Tio didn’t push, just watching him pull up his
hood with finality and light up a cigarette, flame reminiscent of the ones that
had since disappeared from above them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t wait for his reply, knowing he’d linger to watch him disappear like
he always did, worrying about him even if he wouldn’t admit it, those blue eyes
boring into his back and making him feel strangely ashamed. The walk back to
the bar seemed to take forever now he was alone, the streets abandoned and
nobody around apart from the odd cat who ran in his presence, the guilt was
still heavy in his chest. He didn’t feel worthy to be the brave leader they all
looked up to and respected, he was just a human, he was nothing special, he
couldn’t protect them, couldn’t keep them safe. He made mistakes too, but
sometimes he felt like they didn’t realise that, he was flawed and foolish and
stupid, and he knew that wasn’t good enough. Keeping up appearances was hard,
and right now he wasn’t sure he cared what anyone thought, lighting another
cigarette and wishing he could just quit this whole thing, then it wouldn’t
matter if he fucked up, at least nobody would get hurt except him.
His thoughts were too heavy and he scoffed at himself even as he unlocked his
door, cigarette already thrown onto the floor outside and stamped out, he was
thinking like an angsty teenager and he didn’t much like it. Locking the door
behind him and turning to hang up his coat and scarf, glad he’d left the
heating on as his fingers began to defrost already, losing their unnerving blue
tone, sighing again, but this time tiredly.
“Setting off lanterns for a dead person seems a bit useless.”
“Fucking hell Sly,” his shock at the sudden voice wore off remarkably fast,
spinning around with an incredulous stare because this had happened so many
times now he was barely even surprised, just waiting for his heart to stop its
panicked beating as he pulled off his boots. “You really know how to time shit,
huh?”
He didn’t respond, just shrugged almost smugly and hopped off the dining table
where he’d been perched, smoke billowing around his head as usual and face for
once not quite so beaten up, pale skin almost completely undamaged. “It’s a
skill of mine.”
“Huh, one of few,” he muttered, but he knew the other had heard him by the soft
scoff that escaped his lips as he moved to sit on the sofa instead, kicking off
his shoes as if he belonged there, had been invited instead of presumably
broken in. “Where’ve you been?”
The yellow eyes that darted up to his weren’t clouded with anything for once,
no drugs obscured his vision or made his thoughts damp and distant, they were
crystal clear and almost as electric as his hair. His mouth twitched into a
less than friendly smile, almost suspicious and it had been a long time since
he’d seen that look focused on him, even before he disappeared, “miss me, did
you?”
“Something like that,” it was an answer Sly himself would give and he wasn’t
sure he appreciated the puff of air that left his uninvited guest as he turned
his face away, laughing under his breath and shrugging his way out of his
jacket, clearly too comfortable on his couch, in his apartment, back in his
life again after so long. “So what happened?”
“Nothing, maybe I just got sick of trying to get into your pants,” the stare
that fixed him wasn’t truthful and Mizuki knew already that he was lying. He
had run away, fled after he’d started to show vulnerability, after he’d sought
him out for comfort and been all too reassured by his presence, by the warm
body next to his, it had scared him and he’d run. Mizuki didn’t need him to say
it to know that was the truth, the only truth.
“Oh? So this is attempt number two is it?” He asked, even though by now it was
more like attempt fifty, how Sly could continue pestering after being knocked
back so many times, Mizuki didn’t know, maybe he thought that now he’d at least
managed to suck him off his chances were higher.
“Something like that,” and now Mizuki laughed, because fuck he was so screwed
up it was impossible to have a normal conversation with him, subdued mood of
the day suddenly wiped away in his presence and any lingering sadness from the
memorial ceremony in the back of his mind. “It’s been a year, huh?”
His expression grew tense because he wasn’t in the mood for Sly saying anything
more about Yasu’s death or his ceremony, he was only glad he didn’t know his
name, he had the feeling if it spilled out of those lips he might do something
he’d regret like punch him in the face. Though now he thought about it, there
was a large chance he wouldn’t regret it one bit, and his team would surely
thank him for it, already resentful that they hadn’t been allowed to fuck him
up that day or several times before.
“Yeah,” his voice was cold, but never as cold as Sly’s could be, to the point
and final, trying to tell him without saying that he wasn’t in the mood for his
shit right now, he’d spent the whole day overcome with guilt and sadness and an
argument was not what he needed.
Sly just nodded slowly, sniffing and wiping his nose with the sleeve of a shirt
Mizuki didn’t recognise, wondering if maybe he’d been able to steal some new
clothes since he last saw him, figuring the ones he gave him must be in a
terrible state by now. “How’s it healing?”
Oh, of course he meant that, he’d already given his opinion on Yasu today,
calling bullshit on their thoughtful lantern ceremony and pissing off the
entire team, and his thoughts at the time had differed from them now, a year
later, so much they were almost unrecognisable as having come from the same
person. He actually laughed when he realised what he meant, because he always
had been a smooth talking asshole who was just determined to see him naked as
much as possible, thinking to himself that he had almost missed this back and
forth banter.
“Hm, quite well actually,” he remarked casually, yanking up his shirt as if to
merely look himself but well aware of the hungry yellow eyes that only lingered
on the impressive scar a second before taking in as much of his exposed stomach
and chest as he could. Mizuki watched as his gaze travelled from his
bellybutton down the strip of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his
boxers, almost amused at how little Sly tried to keep his desire hidden,
nibbling at his lip absently.
“And here I thought it might spoil you,” he smiled, not even pretending he
hadn’t just been ogling him as he shifted on the sofa, making room for when
Mizuki joined him, eyes flitting over every inch of him as if trying to remind
himself what he looked like after so long away. “Though it’d take a lot more
than a stab wound to do that.”
“You flatter me,” he smiled, but he wasn’t sure why the atmosphere was so
different, crackling with something more than their usual banter, something
flirtier in Sly’s movements, his smirks and the way his eyes rested on him made
him feel hot under the collar. He was angry, and tired and sad and ridden with
horrible guilt, and he wanted to blow off steam, but God he knew if he
continued this, let himself be human and make mistakes, make this mistake, he’d
probably regret it. Not sure he cared as he headed into the kitchen, “want a
beer?”
“You got something stronger?”
He smiled at that, genuine and unsurprised, because of course Sly wouldn’t be
happy with a casual drink, for him it was all or nothing, that was clear in his
approach to getting into his pants, unless he got his fuck he didn’t care much
about anything else. But still he stood, knowing those eyes would be following
him, glowing in the dim lights and sending a prickle up his back he wasn’t sure
if he liked yet. The vodka was easy enough to find, yet untouched where it sat
atop his cabinet, frankly surprised Sly hadn’t helped himself to it yet,
grabbing glasses and coke even though he knew the other would happily drink it
straight. Getting drunk wasn’t exactly the best idea, he knew that, but after
today he felt like all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, and since he
obviously couldn’t do that without Sly trying to follow him, getting wasted was
the next best thing he could do.
This time Mizuki poured the glasses, those yellow eyes on them were making his
hands tremble just slightly and he knew he was pouring more than he normally
would, than he should, but he didn’t care because Sly’s noise of approval made
it worth it. He wasn’t even sure when he’d started seeking his approval, but
some part of him didn’t like having anybody cocky enough to talk down to him,
especially since he was used to the exact opposite. He never thought he’d been
the proud type, or the sort of person to try and impress, but somehow when it
came to Sly he pushed his buttons in just the right way to make him turn into
somebody different.
“So why’d you come back?” He was trying to keep the conversation light, but he
knew Sly wouldn’t take kindly to any more questions about his long
disappearance or his sudden arrival in his life, his apartment.
He took his offered drink with a nod, the nearest to a thanks Mizuki would
expect from him, drinking a large mouthful and frowning as if it wasn’t quite
strong enough, regarding him curiously. “Haven’t gotten laid in a while,
thought I’d take my chances.”
Bullshit. It was all bullshit, every word that had left his mouth since he’d
arrived was complete crap, no truth ever seemed to come from him, whether he’d
gotten laid or not had never stopped him pestering him before. “Sorry to
disappoint you.”
“Oh I’m sure you wouldn’t,” and again that flirtatious, almost dirty smile that
had never affected him before had suddenly gone to his head, making his throat
thick and something in his head twist his mouth into an amused smirk because
shit something here was different and he liked it.
“You really never give up, do you?”
His smile was doing strange things to his stomach and for the first time ever
Sly registered that he was flirting back, heart doing some kind of flip in his
chest and blood running hot as he just took another drink, licking his lips
with deliberate slowness. “I have a habit of getting what I want.”
“And what’s that?” He knew what the answer would be before he even asked, but
somehow he wanted to hear it come out of those damp, pink lips that were so
distracting.
“Oh I think you already know what I want,” he’d moved closer, body turned close
into his, eyes not leaving his because damn he was good at eye contact when he
needed to be and those yellow eyes were drawing him in like he’d been
hypnotized.
“Humour me,” because fuck it, if he was going to do this, and damn the part of
him screaming no was barely a whisper now, he’d make sure he had his fun too,
and god when Sly said dirty things in that voice of his he felt like he was
melting.
He exhaled through his nose, clearly amused, stretching out to place his drink
deliberately on the table, Mizuki’s eyes following the curve of his spine,
fingers twitching on his own cold glass with nervous anticipation because ah
fuck this was a terrible idea but he’d always found those were the best ones to
follow through with. He didn’t even comment as Sly shifted back, movements
confident and that was most of his appeal, he knew what he wanted, he wanted
this and he wasn’t afraid to get it and that was so different to most people it
made Mizuki’s worries all but fall away.
His shoulders were broad under Sly’s hands, mounting his lap with ease, legs
sliding down on either side of the bartenders with deliberately graceful
movements. Making sure to flip his hair off his neck and deliberately biting
his lip as he sunk down onto his legs, fingers soft on the skin of his hairline
as they wound around his tanned neck. It was a move that looked well practiced
but he’d truthfully never done before, certain it had worked as Mizuki’s eyes
trailed his movements and his stare was damned enticing as it watched his lithe
waist sway as he seated himself comfortably.
“Obvious enough for you?” He asked, and his voice was as seductive as it was
teasing, personality unchanged but swamped by this last ditch attempt to work
his way into his bed because this was the closest he’d come yet and he could
somehow tell that tonight he would finally get what he wanted.
“Just about,” he whispered, because shit the visual of Sly on his lap,
expression so alluring and more than a little captivating was more than enough
to wipe away any more issues with this he might have. But then…
“You realise this is a bad idea?” He asked, though he didn’t even believe
himself as he spoke, words more enticing than scolding as he ditched his own
drink because fuck it, he could always lie to himself and say it went straight
to his head if he felt too guilty afterwards. He somehow didn’t even care that
his excuse of last time, being drunk and high, couldn’t be applied now, because
he wasn’t drunk but neither was Sly and he was just giving into pressure, it
wasn’t like he’d wanted this from the start. “Like really bad,” but his hands
were already on his slim waist and he could feel his warmth through his
shoulders, those yellow eyes so keen and pupils dilated so deliciously, his
smirk so close he could kiss it away if he wanted to and damn he really did.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” That was so provocative, the alcohol
buzzing through his veins was making him unbearably warm and his mouth felt
dry, because he was right, what was the worst that could happen? Even if Sly
told his team he’d just deny it, say he was lying to try and get him into shit,
they’d believe him over Sly for definite, no question about it.
What was so different about today? Was he particularly vulnerable to his charms
because he was back to grieving again? Did he just want some distraction from
the guilt that thrummed through his bloodstream, or had this always been
coming? Was the reminder of death telling him to live while he could, to take
full advantage of the offer in front of him? To enjoy himself while he could
and fuck the consequences because he could die at any moment? Or was there just
something in the soft lighting hitting Sly’s face that made the glow of those
intense eyes so alluring, the almost pretty way his face looked now it wasn’t
bruised or marred, because damn how had he never noticed how unfairly pretty he
was until now?, tricking him into thinking this was okay.
“I could be terrible,” that was a lie, he knew his own sexual prowess well
enough to know that he was rarely, if ever, a disappointment, and that even if
he was somehow terrible, Sly would manage to get his fun anyway, he seemed the
type to have no issues taking control.
“I highly doubt that,” and now he was telling the truth, tilting his head to
the side to observe him better, taking in the almost nervous movements of his
hands where they rested on his slim hips. “So you gunna fuck me or not?”
His lips twitched and Sly caught the exact moment he pushed his concerns aside,
something in his eyes firmer than it had been before and making his heart pound
in his chest because damn he looked almost starved and he absently wondered
when the last time was he got any action. “I suppose I could.”
He laughed at that, and it was almost cute, tongue between his teeth playfully
and eyes smiling almost innocently, then it was gone and his eyes were lidded
as he leaned in, moving fluidly and back curving against Mizuki’s hand.
“Finally.”
It was like he knew he was still nervous, easing him into it and kissing slower
than the bartender expected, letting him relax against his body and remind
himself that this was fine, it was a one-time thing and damn it had been a long
time since he so much as kissed somebody. He was warm and pliant under his
hands and it didn’t take long for him to assert his control, fingers growing
firmer and kisses harder as his tongue pushed past the pliant line of his lips
and he made a soft noise that went straight to Mizuki’s head. Calloused hands
pushed up into his shirt to touch warm, soft skin and trace lines into his back
with his nails, enjoying the whimper when he scraped down hard and the body
atop him arched into his, gasping against his mouth.
Then something in both of them snapped and hands were grabbing and tugging at
clothing and Sly wormed him out of his t-shirt, fingers firm on hardened muscle
and only separating to yank his own shirt off, blue hair falling against his
pale shoulders like a waterfall. Scarred and flawed and with the huge slash
mark across his stomach red and shiny against his flesh, arch of his neck
irresistible to the bartender as he moved to mark the perfect skin. Biting down
harder just to hear his moans grow louder, needier, only stopping when he drew
blood and Sly whimpered, taste hot and metallic against his tongue. He slid his
own pants off in what seemed like seconds and his lips were hot on his chest as
he worked his way down to the buckle of the bartenders jeans, flicking them
open easily and barely giving him time to kick his jeans and boxers onto the
floor before he had his mouth over the heated flesh.
“Ah shit, Sly…” Mizuki gasped because oh fuck he was good at this, taking him
in so completely his nose grazed the dark patch of hairs at the base, moaning
as his tongue darted out to lick at the sensitive head and his hand worked at
what he couldn’t focus on right now.
The skilled bluenette just managed a grin as he continued to work him with
skilled bobs of his head and flicks of his wrist, moans pouring from the
bartender’s mouth almost as frequently as breathing.
“S-stop,” he managed to pant after only a few minutes, breath already gone,
using the hand in the blue hair to push his head away and breaking the strand
of saliva that connected him to his dick, not sure if that was disgusting or
utterly arousing, but the rapid beating of his heart telling him it was
definitely the latter.
“Stop?” Sly asked, not sure if Mizuki had changed his mind again, which would
be troublesome for the both of them, or if there was some other reason, licking
pre-come off his lips and savouring the unique taste of it for the second time.
“No good?”
The smugness in Sly’s voice let the both of them know he had every confidence
in his skills in this area, Mizuki chuckling breathily and uttering a weak,
rather reluctant, “very good.” His hand began rooting around in the coffee
table drawer beside them and Sly’s face lit up in anticipation, he hadn’t
changed his mind after all, and Sly would be getting the fuck he’d waited so
fucking long for. “Just- hang on a minute.”
Sly rolled his eyes and merely watched Mizuki’s expression slowly lose its
lustiness as he continued his search, eyes gleaming a minute later as he
returned his hand with a small bottle of lube clenched within it. “Bingo.”
Sly was getting bored of waiting now, gripping burgundy hair with painful force
and pulling Mizuki down so their faces were centimetres apart. “Mizuki, hurry
up and fuck me.”
There was an instant rush to comply, blue boxers landing beside the pile of
scattered clothes on the floor, t-shirts having been lost somewhere under the
coffee table, bartender adjusting them so he was hovering over Sly
possessively, trapping him in a cage of arms.
Part of him was still regretting this, thinking what a bad idea it was even as
his body disagreed because fuck it had been so long and jerking off only
satisfied him so much. Sly's body was so soft, so hot and pliant under his
fingers and he didn't waste any time in taking charge as Mizuki had expected,
taking the bottle of lube and slicking up his fingers for him, raising his hips
off the couch. His fingers now suitably coated with the gloopy liquid he
swallowed hard because shit there was no turning back now but he wasn’t sure he
cared, fingers leaving a snail like trail up his impossibly soft inner thighs
before one digit pushed in, Sly barely responding, he’d had much more up there
before after all. A second finger came a second later, twisting and scissoring
carefully, Mizuki still afraid of hurting him even though he had the feeling he
liked it a hell of a lot rougher than most people might. Not noticing that Sly
was beginning to get sick of waiting until he pulled the surprised man’s tanned
fingers away, raising a challenging eyebrow as he lay there, entirely naked and
with his dick leaking onto his flat stomach. The view was remarkably appealing
to Mizuki, the uncaring way he lay there, like he had no embarrassment about
his nakedness at all was completely different to his past partners, Sly had
wanted this so fucking long and he refused to wait any longer. The dark marks
he had made on the pale neck were coated with a crust of dried blood and the
possession they spoke of, his ownership of Sly, for one night at least, removed
any need to be careful he might have had, making his hand confident as he
finally reached for his dick.
“Ah!” his noise was more a startled inhale than a moan but God it was music to
Mizuki’s ears and his body jerked into his touch in such an uncontrolled way it
was like seeing him come undone, gasping against his neck as hot lips trailed
up to nibble the sensitive skin of his earlobe. “Mizuki…”
His voice was cracked and desperate in a way he had never heard before and fuck
that this was wrong, that he was only sixteen, or was it seventeen now? Fuck
his reputation and his teasing and his constant ability to piss everyone around
him off, fuck his pretty yellow eyes and his white thighs that he parted more
than willingly, holding his breath as Mizuki’s dick nudged his hole. Fuck him
for disappearing and for making him worry and for being so god damn seductive
and-
But then he slid in smoothly and all thoughts left his head because oh shit
he’d forgotten how damn good this felt, being surrounded by this hot pressure,
dropping his head down onto his chest and breathing heavily. Nails scrabbling
at his back loosely as Sly whined because he hadn’t stretched him enough and
they both knew that but his fingers were firm on his shoulders, pressing hard
into his back and Mizuki knew he liked it, sadistic fucker that he was.
He almost wanted to laugh, hormones rushing to his head and apparently making
him lose all sense because he was about to fuck Sly Blue on his couch and he
wasn't sure he felt too bad about it anymore. But of course he wouldn’t give
either of them time to adjust, almost hissing into his ear, “what are you
waiting for?”
He always rose to a challenge, even more so when it was Sly, warm up completely
unnecessary now with sweat already beading on his forehead and his heart
beating a thousand miles an hour as he let himself lose control. The noise that
left Sly was almost a laugh and it was all Mizuki could do to not laugh too
because this was insane, he was having sex with Sly Blue when he’d been
refusing for months, all his morals blown away with a few choice words and the
sight of those stupid fucking half lidded yellow eyes. They were locked on him
even now, pupils blown wide and fluttering shut as he fucked into him, head
sliding across the sofa as he eased himself back into it, feeling almost clumsy
because it had been a really long time since he’d done this.
“You can do better than that,” his voice was challenging but he was panting and
every other noise that left his lips was a moan so Mizuki figured he wasn’t
doing too badly, laughing breathily anyway because only Sly would be this
demanding. Re-angling his hips and pulling out completely only to shove back in
hard and this time he moaned properly, nails sharp against his muscled
shoulders, digging into the tanned skin and pulling him closer, burying his
face in the tattooed neck. Moans and whimpers spilling directly into his ear
and oh shit why had he waited so long to do this? He was just so real, so
present and there and utterly honest, every noise he made sounded like it was
ripped from his throat involuntarily, nothing was faked, not his fingers
running over his back like he was trying to touch every inch of him, not the
way he began fucking himself down onto him, to drive him even deeper. This was
completely real and raw and hungry and Mizuki fucking loved it, there was no
hiding here, no nervousness or expectations or feelings, just the sensation of
his skin on his fingers and the taste of sweat on his lips.
But this wasn’t enough, placing his hands in the undersides of Sly’s knees and
shoving his legs further apart, bending him almost double easily and forcing
him to take his hands off his shoulders, missing the contact only a little as
he slid in deeper with every thrust. God he didn’t know where to look, at the
way his dick thrusted into his tight hole so easily, or at his face, which was
wide open and twisted with pleasure, lips parted and eyes either squeezed shut
or so strangely vulnerable it only made him more aroused because shit he felt
so dominating.
His arms were up by his head, letting the bartender take control, for once not
trying to be the one in charge, just letting him fuck into him and whimpering
every time he deliberately slowed his thrusts down, making sure he could feel
every inch of him sliding in before pulling out and slamming back in so hard he
cried out. It was all swearing and whining and biting at his lip as his hips
were pulled on and off his dick over and over, hands so hard on his flesh he
knew he’d bruise but these he didn’t mind, ones caused by passion not anger, a
reminder that he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted.
“Mizuki harder fuck-“ So dirty and needy and desperate as he put his own hands
under his legs, holding them up so every single inch of his dick could slam in
with every thrust, whining because it felt amazing but he just wasn’t hitting
the right spot where he needed him to, where he’d scream and oh fuck it’d feel
so amazing.
But then he pulled out and Sly barely had time to be annoyed, disorientated and
sudden loss of pleasure making his head spin, ribs heaving as he tried to catch
his breath, “wha-?”
“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice short of breath and that was so
delicious the words didn’t register for a second, suddenly making sense and
making him grin, trying to smirk but failing because Mizuki had fucked the
ability to do anything but comply out of him. He wasn’t ashamed to follow his
orders, accepting for once the hands that helped him to turn on the couch, damp
with sweat and more than a little gross, manoeuvring himself onto his knees and
trying to ignore his legs shaking.
He wasn’t sure what had happened, but the switch in him with the neat label
‘morals’ had been switched off and he didn’t care anymore that this was a one-
time thing, that he might feel grubby and guilty afterwards, it just felt so
good to let go, to finally let himself give in and not care about anything
other than the very willing body stretched out in front of him. He’d always
found it a little strange, fucking somebody he didn’t have some kind of
feelings for, sure he’d had one night stands before and they’d been good but
something about them had always made him uncomfortable, like it was wrong
somehow. Even with Tio it had been strange, the sex had been awesome, but
everything else had been odd, they hadn’t been able to act the same way they
always did and he didn’t like it. But with Sly he knew they’d go back to
exactly the way they had been, probably immediately afterwards, back to their
bantering and flirty teasing and their lying to each other.
The knowledge that he could have him like this, slim back spread out in front
of him, svelte waist warm under his fingers and ribs visible where he breathed,
head lowered down where he didn’t quite have the strength to raise it, was so
enticing he took a moment to just stare. He ran a tanned hand down his spine,
noticing him arching his back into the touch just slightly, hair sliding off
his neck to show gradually bruising bite marks on his neck and the faintest
crusting of blood where he’d bitten down so hard, too hard in his opinion.
“Hurry up already,” but of course the moment couldn’t last long, strength
regathered and that familiar voice just making him chuckle, coming out darker
and lustier than he expected, registering the shiver that travelled through
Sly’s waiting body. He slid in slowly again, savouring the second when the head
of his dick passed his muscled walls and became engulfed in heat, Sly’s soft
noise barely heard over his harsh breathing as he started up again. His fingers
were firm on his hips and he could see the soft flesh oozing out from between
the tanned skin, holding him in place so he could pull him onto his dick even
as he fucked into him hard and fast.
It took Sly a moment to work out the rhythm but when he did he began moving his
hips back to meet the bartenders, driving him farther in and he had to muffle a
cry into the arm of the sofa, head dropping down and elbows faltering as he
finally found his prostate. Every thrust hit against it and it was all he could
do to keep the rhythm, too busy trying to keep his composure because he could
hear Mizuki grunting and his head was fuzzy with pleasure and his legs had
started to shake.
“Fuck- I-“ He tried to speak but the words choked off because a hand had slid
round his body to wrap around his dick and it must have been dripping onto the
sofa because his hand moved along it so fluidly that wet noises filled his
ears. “Mizuki- oh shit-“
His name sounded so good in that voice, desperate and needy, begging him even
as he gripped his hip harder, timing his thrusts with the movements of his hand
on Sly’s dick, thumbing at the head at the same time he slammed in deep and the
coil of pleasure in his stomach was wound so tight he knew he wouldn’t last
much longer.
Sly’s breath hitched and his whole body froze, stopping breathing for a split
second before a cry almost like a scream left him and warmth covered Mizuki’s
hand, ass clenching around him as his movements grew sloppy, burying his face
into his shoulder and barely registering that Sly was still moving his hips
backwards. Orgasm crashed over him and he moaned into Sly’s shoulder, lips
against his skin and gasping as Sly’s movements milked him until there was
nothing left to give and he had to pull out, swallowing thickly as he watched
his cum trickle out of his ass and down his thighs.
“Holy shit,” he panted, managing an exhausted laugh as he flopped back onto the
sofa, fully satiated in a way he hadn’t been in months, utterly satisfied and
watching Sly grimace as he reached behind himself, fingers coming away cum-
streaked. Offering him the tissue box silently and taking in his expression,
guard lowered and relaxed, just taking them and wiping himself clean as well he
could before his knees started trembling too much and he ungracefully sank down
onto the ruined fabric, careful to avoid his cum where it began to sink into
the couch.
He knew Sly wasn’t exactly the cuddling type, wondering absently if he was
going to get up and leave immediately or whether he’d stay a bit longer and he
could test his theory that nothing would change, just offering him an amused
smile as he yanked his boxers back on. "Happy now?"
There was a pause before he shrugged, because he’d sure as hell enjoyed himself
if his moans were anything to go by, but his response didn’t reflect that, "not
really."
"Well my apologies, did I not live up to your high standards?" He wasn’t sure
if he was offended or not, he had a feeling Sly’s apparent unhappiness might be
down to something not related to the act they’d just finished, the evidence of
which was clear in the throbbing of his back, wondering if he’d left marks
again and deciding he didn’t care.
"It was okay,” that was a lie and they both knew it, it was great, more than
great, but his smirk belayed that to Mizuki, he was only lying to make a point.
“I'm sure you'll do better next time."
"Next time?" He didn’t even know why he was asking, because of course, of
course Sly wouldn’t be happy now he’d gotten what he wanted, no, he’d opened
the floodgates and now he was apparently in another fuckbuddy scenario, just
hopefully this one would end as well as the last.
"You didn't think I'd be satisfied after just that, did you?"
He didn't reply, but it was remarkably obvious that yes, that had been what he
thought.
"Hm, take it as a compliment, it's not every day I get fucked that good." He
was standing already, pulling on his clothes over sweat-damp skin, speckled
with red marks from Mizuki’s fingers and teeth, ignoring the fact that there
was still cum on his stomach.
He honestly wasn't sure whether to be proud of his apparent sexual skill, or
alarmed that Sly seemed to think this was going to happen again, but he
supposed if they could be the same as always, if their sort-of-friendship could
continue, and he could get sex on top, it might not be so bad.
"It's the perfect arrangement, you get to stop being a goody two shoes and
actually get some action, and me? Well..." His eyes ran over Mizuki's body
appreciatively, licking his lips distractedly. "It's obvious what I get.”
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks for commenting and leaving kudos, I hope you all enjoyed this
     story and thanks for sticking with me through it :)
     I have a sequel planned, so keep an eye out for that, it should be up
     after Christmas at the latest!
     Find me here- minky-way.tumblr.com
End Notes
     Find me here at- minky-way.tumblr.com
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